


Rejected

by PatL



Category: Starsky and Hutch - Fandom
Genre: An Alternate Universe story, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-28
Updated: 2004-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-08 19:08:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 44,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatL/pseuds/PatL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would happen if Starsky wasn't a cop? Would Fate still bring them together? Would a bond form between them and still be as strong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Rejected

He could feel her terror. The sound of her heart beating wildly was like a Congo drummer gone insane.   
She stood in front of the cloaked figure, her eyes wide with fear. Her assassin was clad in a long coat and fedora. Wool knit gloves covered his hands, and the sun reflected the gleam of the knife.   
Her trembling voice was muffled by her hand over her mouth. "Please don't hurt me. Whatever I've done, I'm sorry!"  
She stepped back as the banshee-like laugh assaulted her.   
"You're sorry? You don't know what the word means! I'll teach you to laugh at me. You're not laughing now, are you? Are you??"  
"Why- why would I laugh at you? I don't know you!"  
He yanked the fedora off his head, revealing his face. "Do you recognize me now, bitch? I asked you out for a cup of coffee, but you looked at me like I was some kind of bug. I wasn't good enough for you, was I? So, you laughed at me. You couldn't take time out from your precious schedule to be nice to me."  
The tears were streaming down her face. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. Look, I'll go out with you. I'll do anything you want me to. Just please don't hurt me!"  
He threw his head back and cackled. "So the high and mighty slut is begging now! It's too late. You had your chance. You think you're so beautiful. Well, when I'm through with you, your own mother won't be able to stand the sight of you. Go ahead, laugh at me. I said, laugh at me!"  
She backed up against the couch, sobbing openly. "Please, God, don't kill me. I didn't mean to hurt you! Please!"  
With a final roar, he closed the distance between them. As the knife rose and fell and her blood covered him, he chanted over and over again.  
"Laugh at me! Laugh at me! LAUGH AT ME!"  
His rage abated and he looked down at her lifeless body. His tears mixed with her blood.   
"Why did you have to laugh at me?"  
He bent down and dipped his finger in her blood. Slowly, he wrote the message on the wall: REJECTED.  
David Starsky sat up in the darkness. The sweat glistening on the hairs of his chest chilled him in the cool night air. The hair on the nape of his neck stood up as the sound of her screams filled his mind. Shaky, he got out of bed and walked to the open window, inhaling the fresh air in huge gulps. Gradually, the pounding of his own heart lessened and he was able to think clearly again. The abject terror that he felt during the vision intensified as the sight of the woman's face came back to him. He'd seen that face five days a week for the past eight years.   
He shook his head emphatically, refusing the credibility of what he'd seen. For most of his life, he'd denied the existence of the curse bestowed on him, to himself and everyone else. Usually, he was successful in pushing the unwanted premonitions away, but not this time. Starsky sagged against the windowsill as the truth crashed in on him. He'd just witnessed the brutal murder of one of his co-workers.   
"Oh, my God! Jeannie!"  
Still clad in the jogging pants that he wore to bed, Starsky threw on a t-shirt and shoved his bare feet into his blue Adidas. He shrugged into his black leather jacket, grabbed his car keys and ran out the door.  
Starsky turned onto the street leading to the small community where Jeannie Gordon lived. He slowed his red and white Torino down as he saw the blue lights of the squad cars parked along the curb. An ambulance sat in front of the cottage, its lights turned off. He parked behind a truck and fought his way through the crowd of onlookers. Two uniformed officers blocked his way as he tried to enter the house.  
"Whoa, hold on a minute. You can't go in there. This is a crime scene."   
Starsky pushed against their arms. "I have to see her! She's a friend of mine!"  
To his left, a tall man, wearing a tan trench coat, turned around and gazed steadily at him. Sympathy flickered in his blue eyes as he stepped closer.  
"If you're a friend of hers, then you really don't want to see her. What's your name?"  
"Starsky, David Starsky. We work at the same agency, O'Neil and Associates. It's true, then? He really killed her?"  
Sympathy was quickly replaced by suspicion. "She's dead, that's true. What do you know about this, Mr. Starsky?"  
Starsky realized his mistake and tried to compensate. "I don't know anything. I was just dropping by and saw all the lights, and I was afraid something had happened to her. Your officer said that this was a crime scene. Since I don't see Jeannie anywhere around, I assume something did happen. By the way, who the Hell are you?"  
The blond man flashed his badge briefly. "Lieutenant Ken Hutchinson, BCPD, Homicide. The call came into Dispatch just a few minutes ago. Our officers responded as soon as they could, but it was too late. You said you worked with the victim?"  
Starsky nodded warily. "Yes, we've worked together for almost eight years."  
"Then we need to talk. I'd appreciate it if you'd come down to the station with me. It won't take long."  
The look on his face told Starsky that it wasn't a request. He nodded reluctantly and motioned to his car.   
"Would it be all right if I followed you? I don't want to leave my car, and I'll need it to get home."  
"Of course, but—I'll follow you."  
Starsky walked slowly back to his car, cursing under his breath. How was he going to explain this one? Jeannie's body was still warm when he'd showed up at her door. How did he know that she'd been murdered? Experience had taught him that revealing his ability would only earn him a skeptical look and a padded cell. Hutchinson looked like the typical hard-boiled detective and wouldn't take kindly to Starsky's explanation of visions in the middle of the night. He would have to watch what he said, very carefully.   
Hutchinson's battered Ford followed Starsky closely as he drove to the 9th Precinct. Starsky shook his head at the detective's transportation. What they say about a cop's salary must be true. If the poor guy can't afford better wheels than that, he really needs a raise.  
Starsky pulled into a parking spot labeled "Visitors" and got out of the car. He waited on the sidewalk while Hutchinson parked his car. The Lieutenant motioned for Starsky to follow and walked up the steps. Once inside, he directed the brunet to a small room.   
"Have a seat. Would you like some coffee? I can't promise it will be fresh, but I can guarantee that it will wake you up."  
"Sure, why not? It can't be worse than the coffee in our machines at work."  
Hutchinson smiled briefly. "Don't bet on it."  
He walked to the coffee maker and poured the strong brew into two cups. He looked over his shoulder. "Do you need cream, or sugar?"  
Starsky nodded. "Both please."  
Hutchinson carried the coffee and the condiments to the table then sat down across from Starsky. He pulled a yellow pad closer and took an ink pen out of his pocket.  
"OK, let's get the formalities over with first. Your name is David Starsky. Do you have a middle name?"  
"Yeah, it's Michael."  
"And what is your address?"  
"2000 Ridgeway Avenue."  
"OK, how long have you lived there?"  
"Four years."  
"You work for O'Neil and Associates, and you've been there for eight years. Is that correct?"  
"Yes."  
"Good. You worked with the victim, Jeannie Gordon. Is that correct?"  
"Yes. I think Jeannie had worked there for about two years before I started, but I'm not sure."  
"What exactly do you do there, Mr. Starsky?"  
"O'Neil's is an advertising agency. I handle accounts for our clients. I design their ad campaigns and take care of their publicity."  
"And what did Ms. Gordon do?"  
"She did the same thing. We're assigned clients by our department heads, and we each have a specialty. I handle our sporting goods division and Jeannie handled the fashion accounts."  
"So you never actually worked together on anything."  
"No. I saw her around the office and we attended a couple of seminars together. She was intelligent, and had a good eye for what the clients wanted. I can't imagine anyone wanting to kill her."  
Hutchinson put down his pen and sat back. "I didn't say she was murdered, Mr. Starsky."  
Starsky bought himself some time by sipping the coffee. He grimaced at the bitter taste. "When I asked you that before, you didn't say she wasn't, Lieutenant. Why else would a Homicide detective be on the scene?"  
The blond nodded slightly. "OK, I'll give you that one. So, you're saying that Ms. Gordon didn't have any enemies that you know of?"  
"No! I know that advertising can be pretty competitive, but let's be reasonable. My God, Lieutenant, there are a hundred agencies like us in this city! If a client isn't satisfied with what we do, he just goes somewhere else. It's not worth killing someone over."  
"What about her personal life? Did she have a husband, or boyfriend?"  
Starsky shook his head. "I don't think she was married and if she dated, she never talked about it. I never saw her with anyone in particular."  
The blond rubbed a hand across his face and sighed. "What about ex-boyfriends? Did you ever see her quarreling with anyone?"  
Starsky drank the last of the coffee and turned the cup around in his hands. Disconcerted by the steady gaze of the Lieutenant, he got up and put the cup back beside the coffee pot.  
"No, I didn't. I don't get it! I've been rejected a few times in my life, but I've never wanted to kill anyone, for Christ's sake!"  
Hutchinson's head came up, his voice soft and deadly. "What did you say?"  
Oh, shit! Why did I say that? Starsky kept his back to the detective and shrugged nonchalantly. "I just said that I've been rejected by women before, but I never wanted to hurt them. I mean, you're asking me about boyfriends and husbands, so obviously you think she knew her killer."  
The blond shoved the yellow pad aside and walked over to where he stood. "You know what I think, Mr. Starsky? I think you know more about this than you're telling me. That's not a good idea. "  
"I don't, Lieutenant, but I'm not stupid, either. I read the papers and I know the statistics. Most homicides are committed by people the victims know. Random violence doesn't happen that often."  
"That's true, but I find it curious that you used that particular word: rejected. Tell me again: why were you were you going to Ms. Gordon's tonight?"  
"I wasn't going to Jeannie's. I was driving around and found myself in the neighborhood, so I thought I'd stop by. I saw the lights and was afraid something had happened to her."  
"Elmhurst is a long way from your apartment, Mr. Starsky. You expect me to believe that you just happened to find yourself in her neighborhood? Are you in the habit of dropping in on your co-workers at this time of night?"  
Starsky wiped his face with the sleeve of his jacket. "No, I'm not. I was driving around because I couldn't sleep. I wasn't going to stop until I saw the lights. I told you this already! I was afraid something was wrong."  
Hutchinson walked back to the table and drank the last of his coffee. He glared at Starsky and pointed his index finger at him.   
"I think you're hiding something, my friend, and that doesn't make me happy. When I saw you tonight, you were a lot more upset than a casual acquaintance, or a co-worker would be. I'm going to give you one more chance to tell me what you know, or else I'm going to charge you with obstruction and throw your carcass in a cell. Maybe that will give you some incentive to be straight with me."  
"I am being straight with you! I'm not your killer, Lieutenant! And you're wasting time, tormenting me, when you should be out there looking for him!"  
"Sit down, Mr. Starsky. I said, sit down!"   
Starsky reluctantly took his seat and looked up at the detective. The blond man remained standing.   
"I'm not tormenting you. I'm trying to solve a homicide and I'm not getting any help from you. I think it's very interesting that you keep calling our killer a "he". I haven't told you anything about the crime, but you keep calling it murder. I also want to know how you managed to show up at the scene of a crime, minutes after it happened. And frankly, I don't buy your story about how you just happened to be in the neighborhood."  
"And FRANKLY, I don't give a damn what you buy! When I said "he", it was just a figure of speech. It doesn't mean that I have inside information. I didn't break any laws, Lieutenant. Now, if you're going to charge me, then do it! Or else, let me go. I'm really tired and it's been a long night."  
Hutchinson sighed then nodded. "All right, you can go, for now. But be warned, Mr. Starsky. I don't believe your story for a minute. Rest assured we'll talk again."  
Starsky stalked to the door and waited for the officer on the other side to unlock it. He turned back to the Lieutenant and snarled, "I can hardly wait."   
The blond detective scowled at the yellow pad on the table. He ripped the first page off and crumpled it.   
"Damn it!"  
Hutch sat at his desk, staring at the picture in front of him. The smiling face of the little girl was caught forever in the lens. Her white dress would never get dirty, the barrettes in her hair would never fall out and the ice-cream cone in her hand would never melt. And the crushing pain in his heart would never leave, either.   
For the millionth time, he whispered the apology. "I'm sorry, Melanie."  
A deep voice behind him brought him back to the present. "You have to stop kicking yourself, Hutch. You did the best you could."  
Hutch glared up at his friend. "If I did the best I could, she wouldn't still be missing, Harold."  
The large black man shook his head sympathetically. "You can't solve every case, Hutch. We didn't have any leads. She disappeared without a trace and so did her kidnapper. It's been over a year. Let it go."  
Hutch gently put the picture back on his desk. He looked up at Harold Dobey. "I'll let it go when I find her. We both know that she's dead, but the family deserves some kind of closure. They can't have that until I find her body."  
It was an argument they'd had several times. As Chief of Detectives, Harold Dobey had watched Hutch climb through the ranks, growing from a raw recruit into the excellent officer he was now. Hutch's tenaciousness had solved more than one difficult case, but it could also be the man's downfall. The one thing that he could not tolerate was an unsolved case, especially when it concerned a child.   
Dobey nodded briefly then changed the subject. He pointed at the wrinkled piece of yellow paper with amusement.  
"Did you lose your temper again, Hutch? What did that defenseless piece of paper do to you?"  
"Very funny. I just can't figure this guy out. He shows up at the scene before anyone knows about the crime, then he says he just happened to be in the neighborhood. I don't like coincidences, Harold. "  
"I assume you checked him out."  
"Yeah, he's clean. Other than a couple of minor scrapes when he was younger, he's never been in any trouble with the law. He hasn't even had a parking ticket in three years, and for this town, that's saying something."  
"So, what's the big deal?"  
Hutch glared down at the yellow paper as if it was keeping secrets. "I get the feeling he knows more than what he's telling me. It's not so much what he said as the way he said it. I can't explain it, but my gut is telling me to watch this guy."  
Dobey shrugged. "So, watch him. What did the autopsy and lab reports show? Were they any help?"  
Hutch made a face. "Maybe, if we arrest a suspect. He got into the house by cutting a small section of screen in the back door. Then he unlocked the door, wearing gloves of course, and got into the house without anyone seeing him. The neighbor that called it in just said she heard screaming and was afraid Ms. Gordon was hurt. She didn't see anyone going in or out. We found fibers from the gloves he was wearing, but they can be bought at any department store. The knife was large, maybe a carving knife, but there isn't anything distinguishing about it. If we find it, there should be traces of blood on it, but so far, we haven't found squat. The only thing we do know for certain is she wasn't raped. He didn't move the body after he killed her, either. If he went out the back door, he didn't leave any bloody footprints. The lab boys are back over there this morning, checking to see if there's any blood in the rest of the house."  
"So, what's your next move?"  
Hutch rubbed his face. "I'm going over to O'Neil and Associates this afternoon. I checked several sources, and O'Neil's seems to be a reputable company. There's no hint of scandal, no lawsuits, and no problems with the IRS. It's simply a small agency, with a nice profit margin."  
Dobey scowled. "That's hardly the kind of place where you'd think this kind of homicide would happen."  
"No, it isn't. And Jeannie Gordon isn't the kind of person that you think this would happen to. That's why I'm going over there. I want to know what the office gossip was. If she was having problems with anyone at all, the grape vine should know it. Besides, it will give me the chance to scope David Starsky out again. The man looked like he'd been punched in the gut when I told him that she was dead, but then he said they seldom saw each other socially. If they had something going, the grape vine will know that, too."  
"OK, let me know what you find out. Try not to antagonize anyone while you're over there. My mother always said you could attract more bees with honey than with vinegar. That's something you seem to forget."  
Hutch slid the yellow paper into a folder and stood up. He gave his Captain a cocky grin.  
"I'm not after bees."  
O'Neil and Associates was located in one of the newer buildings on Main Street. Its modern architecture contrasted with the other buildings on the street. David Starsky parked his Torino in the garage and took a deep breath before entering the building. Undoubtedly, Jeannie's death would be common knowledge by now, but he had no desire to stand around and eulogize her. The gruesome crime still haunted him and he wasn't sure he could keep his emotions a secret from her friends. Hutchinson had been right about one thing: he was more upset than a co-worker would be and if anyone saw that, they would start to wonder why. The last thing he wanted, or needed, was more questions.   
He strode purposefully past Peggy, the receptionist and general watchdog in the lobby, and headed for the elevator with only a brief smile and a nod. He composed himself as he waited for the doors to open. Predictably, Reba Dowd caught him before he could escape to the safety of his office.  
"Oh, David, have you heard? Poor Jeannie was murdered last night! The police said someone broke into her house and attacked her with a knife. It must have been awful! And it's so frustrating, because they won't say who they think did it, or why."  
Starsky smiled slightly. "That's standard operating procedure, Reba. They don't want the killer to know what leads they have, because it could hurt their case. They'll let us know what's going on when they're ready and not before."  
Reba sniffed. "I suppose you're right. Poor Jeannie, we'll really miss her around here. She was such a good person."   
He patted her shoulder. "Yes, she was, and I know she would want us to carry on. So, if you'll excuse me, I have some work to do."  
She smiled bravely and patted his cheek. "Of course, David, that's exactly what she would want."  
He pasted a smile on his face as he backed into his office and closed the door. Slumping against it, he made sure it was locked before stumbling to his desk. He sank into his chair and leaned back.  
"Well, that was fun." He ran his fingers through his curly hair and closed his eyes, remembering her last moments of life.  
"Dear God, Jeannie, who is he and why did he do that to you?"  
Hutch kept his appointment with the CEO of O'Neil and Associates that afternoon. He noticed the subdued atmosphere immediately when he entered the building. The news of Jeannie Gordon's death had affected everyone. Most of the employees talked quietly with each other, with only a few casting curious glances in his direction.   
Hutch knocked on the CEO's door and entered, as a distinguished looking man came forward to meet him. Raymond O'Neil was in his early fifties, with gunmetal gray hair and a winning smile. His grip was firm as he shook hands with Hutch.  
"Come in, Lieutenant, and sit down. This is such a tragedy for the firm that I would like to see it resolved quickly. So, let's get right to the point. How can I help you?"  
Hutch sat down in the chair. "I'm afraid we have very little to go on, Mr. O'Neil, so anything you can tell me will help. I've checked your company out, and it seems to be doing well, and has a good reputation in the city."  
"I like to think we do, Lieutenant. We handle the smaller businesses that the higher profile firms won't. We have fifty-four long-term clients and have twice that in seasonal accounts. You won't find us in Forbes magazine, but we have a good profit margin and pride ourselves on customer satisfaction."  
"How many employees do you have?"  
"I think we have around 185 at the present time. This is a busy time for us, because of the many fall campaigns we're working on, so we do have some temporary employees. If you like, I can arrange a meeting with our personnel director, Ms. Taylor. She can give you full access to all of our personnel records."  
"That will be very helpful, thanks. Can you tell me anything about Ms. Gordon? What kind of employee was she?"  
O'Neil shook his head, regretfully. "Jeannie was one of a kind, Lieutenant. She started out as a secretary for our Fashion division and worked her way up. She had an incredible instinct for what our clients wanted, and knew exactly how to talk to them. Some of our clients have very definite ideas about their advertising, but sometimes they need a little nudge in the right direction. Jeannie was very good at making them see what was best for their company, even if it didn't completely agree with their vision. "  
"Did she get along well with the other employees?"  
"As far as I know, she never had any problems with anyone."  
"Would you know anything about her personal life? Was she having any problems with anyone, romantically?"  
O'Neil scratched his head. "I really can't say for certain, Lieutenant. I think her closest associate would be Jane Thompson. They've worked in the same department for several years. If anyone could tell you about Jeannie's personal life, it would be Jane."  
Hutch nodded. "OK, I'll talk to her. What about here? Has anything unusual happened lately? Like, strange phone calls, or hate mail, or any former clients harassing your employees?"  
"I don't think so, Lieutenant. At least, no one has reported anything like that. If any former client caused that kind of trouble, it wouldn't take long to get around. No reputable agency would take on that kind of client, no matter how much money they offered. It's simply not worth it."  
Hutch sighed and got up. "Well, thanks for your time, Mr. O'Neil. If you happen to think of anything that might help, please don't hesitate to call."  
"Of course, Lieutenant. If you'll let me know when you'll want to talk to Ms. Taylor, I'll set up an appointment for you, at your convenience. And if you need further assistance, my door is always open."  
"I'll let you know, Mr. O'Neil. We're still waiting for a few reports to come back, so I'm not sure what to look for. If you don't mind, I'd rather wander around and talk to some of your employees first. I have some general questions I'd like to ask."  
O'Neil walked Hutch to the door. "By all means, Lieutenant, talk to whomever you want. I'll notify everyone that you are to receive full cooperation."  
Hutch walked casually around the floor, watching the interaction between the employees. He saw a man delivering mail and approached him with a friendly smile. He took a quick look at the man's ID badge.  
"Mr. Barnes? I'm Lieutenant Hutchinson. I know how busy you must be, but I'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind."  
The man looked at him warily. "I guess so. What do you want to know?"  
"Well, I assume you know what happened to Jeannie Gordon. Did you know her?"  
The mail clerk shrugged. "I took her the mail, if that's what you mean. I didn't really know her."  
"Did she ever receive any suspicious packages, or letters?"  
"She got lots of mail, like everyone else does. I don't know what you mean by suspicious."  
"Did she ever seem upset by something she got in the mail?"  
"Not really. She didn't say anything, if she was."  
"Was she nice to you?"  
William Barnes shrugged again. "She was OK, I guess. I wasn't one of her friends. I just work in the mail room. We didn't socialize."  
Hutch was beginning to get angry. "Mr. Barnes, I'm investigating a serious crime. Everyone has been genial, so far, but I'm afraid they haven't been much help. I'm not out to get you into any trouble. I need to know as much about Ms. Gordon as possible. Now, let's try this again. What was she like?"  
Barnes frowned. "She didn't really notice me, much. I guess she was friendly with the people in her department, but she could be kind of snobby when she wanted to be. But, that's nothing new. We're not the chosen ones. We're just the gophers around here."  
"How did that make you feel?"  
Barnes grinned sardonically. "I've been with the firm since it opened, Lieutenant. I worked ten years for the post office before that. I was delivering mail when some of these kids were still in diapers. It really doesn't bother me. These people don't sign my paycheck. Mr. O'Neil does, and as long as we do our work, he doesn't give us any problems. Ms. Gordon wasn't being hateful. She just had other things on her mind."  
"That's a very mature attitude. Does everyone else in your department feel the same way?"  
"I don't think they worry about it. We have our friends and the account executives have theirs. It's not a big deal."  
"Have you ever seen Ms. Gordon get into an argument with anyone?"  
Barnes laughed derisively. "Her? No, man, she was too sophisticated for that. If she got mad, she just gave you this cold look, or ignored you. Or she'd say something to cut you down then smile at you. But, she never gave us the time of day. We weren't important enough for her to notice."  
Hutch smiled wryly. "At least you aren't acting like she was some kind of saint. Can you think of anyone that would be angry enough to want to hurt her?"  
"No, but I don't think she let anyone around here get too close to her. I never saw her with any particular guys, and she never got any visitors, except for her clients. If she had a social life, she kept it secret. Maybe one of her friends could tell you, but I'm not one of her friends."  
Hutch sighed. "OK, thanks for talking to me. I might stop down in your department later, to talk to the other clerks. If you think of anything that might help, don't hesitate to call."  
Barnes nodded. "Sure, Lieutenant, but I don't know what else I could tell you."  
He waved slightly and went back to work. Hutch grumbled under his breath.  
"I stopped believing in saints years ago. Somebody has to know what she was like, and I'm going to find them!"  
Hutch spent the next half hour talking to various employees, and got the same responses from them. Jeannie Gordon kept to herself and didn't socialize with her co-workers. She was good at her job, but could be very difficult if angered. When Hutch asked about Jane Thompson, he was told that she'd taken the day off, apparently shaken by Jeannie's death. He called the personnel office and got her address, making a note of it. At the same time, he got David Starsky's office number.   
He walked up to the door and knocked. A few moments later, Starsky opened the door. Starsky wasn't surprised to see him.  
"Hello, Lieutenant. I was wondering when you'd stop by. Come in."  
Starsky motioned for the detective to sit down. "How goes the investigation?"  
"It's not going that well, truthfully. On the outside, this seems like a friendly place to work, but no one seems to know anything about anyone, especially Jeannie Gordon. I confess that I find that a little strange."  
Starsky raised an eyebrow. "Oh, why is that?"  
"Well, you said she'd worked here for about ten years, so she wasn't exactly a strange face. Your CEO says this is a relatively small company. It would seem to me that if she had been here for that long, others would at least know if she was married or not, or if she had a boyfriend. Small companies are notorious for gossip. I can see people not talking about the CEO, but Ms. Gordon was simply an account executive, like you. I've heard from one employee that she could be cold to workers in other departments, and had a temper, but everyone else has portrayed her as some kind of saint. I don't believe in saints, Mr. Starsky. I have to wonder why most of the people around here are trying to make me think she was one."  
Starsky rubbed a hand across his face, and stood up. He paced for a moment then shrugged slightly.  
"I don't think they're trying to hide anything, Lieutenant. These people just found out that Jeannie was killed. They're in shock. And there's that old saying that you don't speak ill of the dead. Right now, Jeannie seems like a saint to them. Once the shock has worn off, they'll be a little more realistic about what she was like."  
Hutch thought about that then nodded. "OK, I'll buy that. This is a quiet company, so I imagine these people haven't had much experience with violent crime. I'll give them a few days then ask my questions again. What about you, Mr. Starsky? Now that the shock has worn off a little, what can you tell me about Jeannie Gordon?"  
Starsky sighed and flopped back into his chair. "I don't think the shock has worn off that much, Lieutenant, but I'll try to help as much as I can. I've been thinking about Jeannie all night. What I told you is true. I didn't socialize with Jeannie. As a co-worker, she was intelligent, dependable, and very creative. I guess she could be a little snobby with the people in other departments. She worked her way up from the secretarial pool, and made a name for herself, without anyone's help. Maybe that colored her perception of others. I don't know. She did have a temper, and I've seen her in action a couple of times. She never cursed, or yelled. She'd fix you with this frosty stare and look down her nose at you. She could cut you to the quick with just a few words. My mother used to refer to people like Jeannie as 'haughty'."  
"How often would you say you saw her in a day's time?"  
"Not very often, I'm afraid. Most of our clients come to us, so we're locked up in our offices most of the day. Other than the seminars that I told you about, we never spent much time together."  
Hutch sighed. "OK. Mr. O'Neil said that a Jane Thompson was close to Ms. Gordon. Do you know her?"  
Starsky smiled for the first time. "Yeah, I know Jane. Now there is a truly good human being. Jane's not an angel, don't get me wrong, but she has a good heart and treats everyone the same way. She's honest and she's straightforward. If she disagrees with you, she lets you know it. She's never phony. Jeannie had a way of manipulating her clients into doing what she wanted. We're all con artists, to some degree. You have to be to get ahead in this business. But Jane always seemed to get what she wanted without conning anybody. To be honest, I was always surprised at how good friends they were. I guess it's an example of opposites attracting each other. I know that Jane took the day off because of what happened, so I guess she was really shaken by Jeannie's death."  
"That's what I heard, too. I'm going to try to talk to her today, if I can. Let's get back to Ms. Gordon. You said you saw her temper in action a couple of times. Can you tell me about that?"  
Starsky sat back and thought for a few minutes. He frowned as he remembered the arguments he'd witnessed.  
"You know, come to think of it, most of the time Jeannie was angry at other employees. No matter what she thought of the clients she handled, she never showed it. I remember coming in early one morning, and Jeannie was ragging our Housekeeping supervisor. Jeannie was missing a letter from one of her clients, and she was accusing the housekeeper of throwing it away. The supervisor offered to go through the trash, but that wasn't enough for Jeannie. She wanted the person responsible fired, and even when she found the letter in the client's file, she never apologized for her tantrum. And she jumped on our mail clerks several times, for not delivering all of her mail, or not mailing something urgent when she told them to. But, that's all happened over the past couple of years. I don't see how that would have anything to do with her death."  
"It's a place to start, Mr. Starsky. And you're sure you never saw her with anyone outside of the company? You never had reason to believe that she was having problems in her personal life?"  
Starsky shook his head emphatically. "No. I never saw her with anyone that I didn't recognize. I'm pretty sure she's never been romantically involved with a co-worker. Like you said, gossip runs rampant around here. If something like that was going on, everyone else would know about it."  
"Do you think Jane Thompson would know about her personal life?"  
"I think if anyone knew Jeannie that well, it would be Jane. She won't lie to you, Lieutenant. Jeannie was a good friend, but if it will help you catch whoever did this, I'm positive she'll tell you anything she knows."  
"Well, thank God for that much. OK, Mr. Starsky. Thanks for your help. If I have any more questions, I'll be in touch."  
Starsky walked the Lieutenant to the door. "I don't know how much more help I can give you, but you know where I am. I really do want you to catch whoever did this, Lieutenant. You never think something like this is going to happen to someone that you know, and it's terrifying when it does. "  
"Violent crime happens everywhere, Mr. Starsky, and it's always terrifying."  
Starsky watched him go then slumped against the door. And it's even more terrifying when you see it first hand, Lieutenant. For the thousandth time, he wished the ability he'd been cursed with would just go away.  
Hutch knocked on the door to Jane Thompson's apartment, and waited. He heard a soft voice telling him that "I'll be right there", and then heard footsteps coming closer. Moments later, the door opened a crack, and part of a face with one red-rimmed brown eye peeked out at him.  
"Yes, may I help you?"  
Hutch held up his badge so she could see it. "I'm Lieutenant Hutchinson. I'd like to talk to you about Jeannie Gordon."  
The eye filled with tears, but she nodded and closed the door. He heard the sound of the chain lock being removed, and then the door opened.  
Jane Thompson was a thin woman, with short sandy-blonde hair and narrow features. Hutch's first thought was that she was the exact opposite of Jeannie Gordon. Starsky wasn't exaggerating when he said these two were completely different.  
Jane wiped her eyes with a small handkerchief. "Won't you come in? I'm sorry that I'm such a wreck. I just can't believe that something like this would happen to Jeannie!"  
"I'm very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Thompson. I understand you and Ms. Gordon were really close. I wouldn't bother you at all, but we're trying to catch the person that did this and we don't have much to go on. Anything, anything at all, that you know would help. "  
"Please, sit down. I'll try to answer your questions as best I can."  
Hutch smiled encouragingly. "Thank-you, Mrs. Thompson. I'll try to be brief. I've talked to some of the other employees at O'Neil's, and to Mr. O'Neil himself, so I think I have everything I need pertaining to her job. What I need from you is information about her personal life. I understand that she kept to herself, and didn't socialize much with the other employees."  
Jane nodded. "Jeannie was always kind of aloof. I know she came off as snobby to a lot of people, but that wasn't it at all. Jeannie worked really hard to get where she was, and I think it crippled her, in a way."  
"What do you mean?"  
"She spent most of her adult life on advancing her career, so she didn't really know how to interact with people. To Jeannie, everyone else was either a way to move up, or they were trying to keep her from moving up. The advertising business is like every other business, Lieutenant. It's still a man's world. For an attractive young woman to succeed, she had to be very strong and very distrustful. She couldn't risk letting anyone get too close, because that would have made her vulnerable. Jeannie's career was her whole life. On the outside, she was strong and determined. On the inside, she was lonely and insecure. It was very hard for her to make friends, because she couldn't see past what they did and see who they were. "  
"But you were her friend. She let you get close."  
Jane smiled wanly. "Look at me, Lieutenant. I never was a threat to Jeannie. She was always the beautiful vixen, and I was the girl next door. I'm a widow, and Jeannie has never been married. And our professional lives were as different as our private lives. Our clients were from opposite ends of the spectrum. She handled the modern fashions, the hip crowd. She thrived on competition. My clients are more straight-laced, if you will. Some designs never go out of fashion, and my clients cater to the same clientele year after year. We became good friends because we lived in different worlds."  
"You said she wasn't married. Did she have a boyfriend?"  
Jane smiled tolerantly. "She had several, Lieutenant. But she was unwilling to commit to any of them."  
"Was she involved with anyone recently?"  
"Yes, up until a couple of months ago. His name is Jonathan Freely. Jeannie never had much time for dating, but I think she met him through her brother. Jonathan is an attorney, and his specialty is business law, so they had that in common. Sad to say, but I think he was more interested in Jeannie than she was in him. When he was offered a partnership with a good law firm in Boston, he wanted to get married and have Jeannie move away with him. Jeannie turned him down. She said her life was here and she'd worked too long to get where she was to leave it all behind."  
'How did he react to that?"  
"He was heartbroken, of course. Even after he moved to Boston, he still wrote her and called her often. He was hoping he could change her mind, but she was adamant. I think he finally stopped calling because he realized it was hopeless."  
"And to your knowledge, she never saw him again?"  
Jane shook her head. "No. Once he moved away, the relationship was over, as far as Jeannie was concerned. And there hasn't been anyone since. I think it hurt her more than she would admit, and she decided to throw herself into her work even more than she had before she met Jonathan."  
Hutch nodded briefly. "Do you have an address for him? I'd like to speak to him, just to get some information."  
"I think I have his address here, somewhere. If you'll excuse me, I'll see if I can find it."  
"That would be helpful. Go ahead, take your time."  
While she was gone, Hutch organized his thoughts. The real Jeannie Gordon was becoming clearer, but he still had no reasonable suspects in her murder. If her latest boyfriend had moved to Boston months ago, who had hated her enough to slash her to ribbons?   
Jane returned to the living room and handed him a piece of paper. "After Jonathan moved to Boston, he lived in a hotel for the first few weeks. This is his permanent address, though. Jeannie told me that he offered to buy an expensive condo if she agreed to marry him. When she finally convinced him that wasn't going to happen; he rented a modest apartment close to the firm where he was working."  
Hutch took the paper and put it in his pocket. "Thank-you. Did Jeannie ever mention getting any threatening phone calls, or letters? And I don't mean from only Jonathan. Was there anyone that she was afraid of, or that she thought might wish to harm her?"  
"No, and I'm sure she would have told me if she had. I've tried and tried to think of anyone that wanted to hurt her, and I can't! This is all so senseless! Jeannie wasn't perfect, but she didn't do anything to justify this. She didn't deserve to die, and certainly not this way."  
Hutch put his hand on hers. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Thompson. I know this is hard for you. You've been a big help. If you think of anything else, would you please call me?"   
He took a card out of his pocket and gave it to her. "This card has my numbers on it, both night and day. You can call me any time."  
She nodded woefully, and walked him to the door. "I hope you find the person that did this, Lieutenant. Jeannie wasn't a monster, and even if she was, nobody deserves what he did to her."  
"I understand, Mrs. Thompson. We'll do our best, I promise."  
He squeezed her hand one more time then closed the door gently behind him. He waited until he heard the chain lock being engaged then walked to his car. He ran his long fingers through is hair and looked back at the small window on the second floor. This was the part of police work that he always hated. Violent crime never touched just one person. There was always someone left behind to mourn the victim, and to wonder why. Jane Thompson had been a good friend of Jeannie Gordon's, and if Hutch's instincts were right, Jeannie didn't have that many. He made a silent promise to that window. I'll find who did this, Mrs. Thompson, and when I do, we'll both know why.  
After stopping in the commissary to grab a light lunch, Hutch sat down at his desk and wrote his report of the day's events. So far, they were no closer to solving the crime, but at least he had a few leads to follow up. He was thinking about his next move when Dobey stopped at his desk.  
"Well, since I didn't get any irate phone calls from Mr. O'Neil, I assume your interview went well?"  
Hutch grinned knowingly at his Captain. "I didn't step on anyone's toes, if that's what you mean." Then he frowned at his report. "I didn't get much help, either. Jeannie Gordon was no worse or no better than any other law-abiding citizen in this city, so I still have no idea why she was targeted by this psycho."  
Dobey sat on the edge of Hutch's desk. "Maybe that's the point. We're looking for a psychotic killer. His reason for killing Jeannie Gordon exists in his own mind, and no where else. Have you checked out known felons?"  
"I've got R&amp;I doing that now. They're cross-referencing the MO with our known psycho's, to see if there's a match. It's always possible, but my gut tells me this isn't a random killing. As far-fetched as it seems, I think our killer knew what he was doing when he went after Ms. Gordon. I just don't know why yet."  
"OK, I've always trusted your instincts. What's your next move?"  
"I've got the address of Jeannie Gordon's ex-boyfriend, in Boston. I'm going to see if I can get him to talk to me on the phone. If I hear anything I don't like, I'll make a trip to Boston. I don't think he's our man, but I'm keeping an open mind."  
"That's all you can do. Well, let me know if you come up with anything."  
Dobey stood up and gazed down at the blond. "For now, why don't you go home and get some sleep? You haven't stopped since the call came in. Take the night off and start fresh in the morning."  
Hutch grinned and put the report in his folder. "That's the best idea I've heard all day. I've been banging my head against a brick wall, so a night off sounds great."  
He stuffed the folder into the top drawer of his desk, and grabbed his jacket.   
"See you in the morning, Harold. Let's hope we both have a quiet night."  
Dobey knocked on wood. "Be careful what you say, Hutch. We both might live to regret it."  
Hours later, while Dobey and Hutch were tucked securely in their respective beds, David Starsky sat rigidly in his recliner, his eyes staring ahead at nothing. He was focused on the scene transpiring inside his mind.  
Tom Rowan stood in the middle of his living room, gazing at the specter in front of him. The phantom in black was back again.  
Rowan's voice was filled with false bravado. "Who are you? What do you want?"  
"What do you think I want? It's not Halloween, Rowan. I want you!"  
"What do you mean, you want me? I don't have time for childish games. Get out of my house, immediately!"  
The phantom pulled the knife from under his robe. "This isn't a game and you aren't in charge any more. I'll leave when I'm finished with you, and not before."  
Rowan took a step back, fear surfacing in his eyes. "What are you doing with that knife? Why would you want to hurt me? I don't even know you!"  
The phantom took off his hat, revealing his face. "Do you recognize me now, you son of a bitch? Or are you so caught up in your precious career that you've forgotten who I am?"  
Rowan caught his breath. "YOU! But, this doesn't make any sense. I've never done anything to you! Why would you want to kill me?"  
The phantom's voice raised an octave. "You've never done anything to me? You laughed at me! I wanted to be your friend, but you wouldn't even take time out from your precious schedule to have a lousy cup of coffee with me! You acted like I didn't exist! I wasn't good enough for you!"  
"That's not true! I was just busy. I didn't realize that it meant so much to you. If that's what you want, we'll have coffee next week, any time you want. Just name the day and time."  
The maniacal laugh sent Rowan reeling backwards. "It's too late! I don't want your charity. I don't need your pity. You're all alike. You think you're so much better than everyone else. Well, you're not. You think everyone knows who you are, but they don't. Just like me. You're not that high and mighty. By the time I'm finished with you, no one will want to see your face. And a few weeks after you're gone, they won't even remember your name. JUST LIKE ME!!!"  
With a final roar, the phantom leaped across the room. Over and over, the knife rose and fell. As his victim's blood splattered on him, he chanted.  
"You laughed at me! You laughed at me! You laughed at me!"  
After the frenzy was over, he wiped the knife on the dead man's clothing. His tears mixed with the blood.  
"Why did you laugh at me?"  
The phantom dipped his fingers in the blood and wrote his message on the wall.  
REJECTED

Starsky lurched forward with a gasp. He put his head in his hands and waited for his heart beat to slow. He bolted out of the chair then stopped.   
No! I can't go over there. If Hutchinson sees me, he'll know something's up. There's no way in Hell that he'll buy another coincidence. Dear God, why can't I see this guy's face? If I could see him, I'd find a way to stop him, no matter what I have to do. Why is he doing this?  
Shakily, he poured himself a drink and sat back down in the recliner. There was nothing he could do, anyway. Rowan was dead. Getting into trouble wouldn't bring him back. Starsky knew that the only thing he could do was wait and watch. Maybe he could figure out who the killer was on his own. What kind of person could kill like that and then act as if nothing had happened? Starsky made a face. The answer to that one was easy. Only a psycho would kill like that, and no one would know who he was by looking at him. Psychos didn't go around wearing name tags on their shirts. He leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. He knew what the morning would bring. All he could do now was try to rest.   
Hutch was making his third trip around the blood-splattered room when he heard the deep voice behind him. Wearily, he nodded at his captain.  
"Sorry we had to haul you out of bed, Harold. I thought you'd want to see this one for yourself."  
Dobey looked at the body on the floor then turned to Hutch. "What have we got?"  
"His name is Tom Rowan. He was forty-five years old, divorced, no children. Guess where he worked?"   
Dobey's eyes narrowed. "O'Neil and Associates?"  
"Give the man a cigar. I think we can forget about the random violence scenario. It's the same MO, right down to the message on the wall. Two people murdered from the same company are just too much of a coincidence. There's only one possible explanation; somebody is really pissed at these people. The only question is: why?"  
Dobey sighed. "The only question is always why. What did the lab boys say?"  
"They found the hole in the screen door that he cut, probably with the same knife he used to kill Rowan and Ms. Gordon. I've got people canvassing the neighborhood, but don't expect any eye witnesses. This guy seems to sneak in and out without a sound."  
The black man snorted. "Of course not, when has it ever been that easy? So, what are you going to do now?"  
Hutch scanned the room carefully. "There's only one thing about this that's different from Ms. Gordon's case: David Starsky. He knew about her almost before we did, but he's conspicuously absent now. I think I want to have another chat with him."  
Dobey frowned. "Isn't it a little late to be interviewing potential witnesses? Besides, like you said, he isn't here. What makes you think he'll know any more now than he did the other night?"  
"Oh, I don't think I'll be interrupting his beauty sleep, if that's what you're worried about. I can't explain it, Harold, but I think he knows a lot more than what he's told me. I want to see his reaction when I tell him another one of his co-workers are dead, and I don't want to wait until morning."   
"Well, you're the senior investigating officer on this case. Just watch yourself. If this man has something to do with the murders, you could be in danger, too. And if he's innocent, and you start stepping on his toes, you could find yourself walking a beat again."  
Hutch gave a quick shake of his head. "I don't buy the man for the murders, Harold. I just think he knows more than what he's saying. And I intend to find out what that is before someone else dies."  
"OK, let me know if you find out anything useful. Meanwhile, we'll let the crime team do its job. I'm going home and see if I can finish that dream I was having. I'll see you in the morning."  
Dobey walked past the body on the floor. He looked back at his detective.   
"And Hutch, get some sleep, too."  
Hutch waved a hand toward his Captain. "Sure, I'll sleep, after I talk to Starsky."  
Twenty minutes later, Hutch knocked on David Starsky's apartment door and waited. His eyes widened in shock as the door slowly opened, revealing the dark haired man.   
"You look like Hell."  
Starsky smiled mirthlessly and walked away. "Good evening to you, too, Lieutenant. You didn't stop by at 2am just to give me a critique on my appearance, did you?"  
Hutch followed him into the room, closing the door behind him. "No, as a matter of fact, I didn't. I thought you might want to know that there was another murder tonight."  
Starsky walked over to the window. "Oh, who was it?"  
Hutch followed him. "I have a feeling you know, Mr. Starsky."  
Starsky kept his back to the other man. "How would I know who it was?"  
Hutch swung him around, and two pairs of blue eyes clashed. "I think you know a whole lot about who it was! The man's name was Tom Rowan. Does that ring a bell? He worked at O'Neil and Associates. I have two dead people that happened to work at the same place. You showed up at the first scene moments after it happened, Mr. Starsky. You were freaked out; even though you swore Jeannie Gordon was only a co-worker. Then tonight, another co-worker is murdered and you look like you've been punched in the gut. I don't like coincidences, Starsky."  
Starsky moved away from the detective. "I don't know anything! Leave me alone, Lieutenant!"  
Hutch grabbed the other man by his shoulders and pushed him into the recliner. He put his hands on the armrests and bent down until they were eye to eye.  
"You do know something, Starsky! You knew Jeannie Gordon was dead almost before we did! You knew what the message was that the killer wrote on her wall. You even used the same word yourself; rejected. That particular piece of evidence hasn't been released to the public. How did you know? Talk to me, Starsky!"  
Starsky pushed the blond away and got up, stalking around the room. He spun around and faced the Lieutenant.  
"I saw it! Do you want me to tell you all the gory details, Lieutenant? I saw him attack her and I saw him kill her. I saw him dip his fingers in her blood and write that word on the wall. I saw everything, Lieutenant!"  
Hutch faced the other man. "What do you mean, you saw it? You said you were here all night long. You told me that you were just driving around and stopped when you saw the squad cars in front of her house. If you weren't there, how did you see anything?"  
"I was here, Lieutenant. I'm telling you the truth. I didn't kill her, and I didn't kill Tom Rowan."  
"Then how could you see something that was happening miles away?" Hutch stopped as the thought occurred to him. He shook his head, disbelieving. "Oh no, you don't mean-." He shook his head again. "You're not telling me that you're some kind of psychic."  
Starsky's smile was gruesome. "I'm not a lunatic, Lieutenant, so you can stop looking for the little men in their white coats. It's not something that I'm proud of. I've spent most of my life denying this damned curse. It's sure as Hell not something that I wanted. But, to answer your question, yes, I am psychic." He laughed mirthlessly at the expression on the detective's face. "Don't worry, Lieutenant, it's not catching."  
Hutch ran his long fingers through his hair and paced around the room. He stopped and looked back at the other man.  
"So you're telling me that you saw those people die in a vision? How am I supposed to believe that?"  
The anger he was feeling left Starsky and his shoulders slumped in resignation.  
"I expect you to believe it because it's true. Why would I make something like that up? I have a job that I love and I'm good at it. I happen to like my life! I really don't want to end up in a loony bin. I saw the guy that killed Jeannie and Tom. I would give anything if I hadn't, but I did. And I know something else, something that doesn't take psychic abilities to see. He's going to do it again. And you know he will, too, Lieutenant."  
Hutch rubbed his face, trying to think. He opened his mouth to say something then closed it. For once, he was at a complete loss for words. Finally, he sighed and sat down on the couch. He looked up at the brunet.  
"OK, tell me what you saw."  
Starsky sat down in the recliner again and leaned back. He shook his head slowly.  
"It was like I was right there! I could see and feel everything. Jeannie was so scared! Tom tried to put on a brave face, but when he saw the knife, he was scared, too." He looked at the detective. "You're asking me to relive both murders, Lieutenant. Do you know how painful that is? It's like walking across hot coals barefooted."  
Hutch shot him a frustrated look. "You told me that you saw everything in a vision. So, tell me something the public doesn't know. You say you're psychic, prove it."  
Indigo eyes flashed at him. "You want me to perform for you, Lieutenant? I'm not some freak in a sideshow! Sorry, I'm afraid my crystal ball is in the shop."  
Hutch leaned forward, his eyes piercing Starsky's. "This isn't a game, Starsky! I'm trying to catch a murderer. So far, I've got precious little to go on. You were the one that started this! You can't expect me to buy a story like that without proof."  
The two men glared at each other for a few moments then Starsky relented. He nodded in resignation. Slowly, he told the detective what he'd seen the night Jeannie was murdered. Then he repeated what he'd seen only a few hours ago. When he finished, both men were silent.  
Hutch thought over what he'd been told then looked at the brunet. "When he dipped his fingers in their blood, did he take the gloves off?"  
"No, he just dipped them in the blood and wrote that word on the wall. I could feel his hatred when he was killing them, Lieutenant. He thinks he's been mistreated. He thinks everyone is against him. But after he killed them, when he was writing the message on the wall, I could feel his pain, too. Whoever this guy is, he's sick. His mind was a mixture of conflicting emotions. One second I could feel the rage and the next, he was like a lonely little boy. He just wants people to notice him."  
Hutch laughed derisively. "So he kills them when they don't? That's a Hell of a way to make friends."  
"Yeah, well, when Jeannie and Tom tried to make it up to him, he said it was too late. They'd already treated him badly. He told them that he didn't want charity. You don't get a second chance with this guy."  
Hutch shook his head. "I can't believe I'm sitting here discussing a premonition. You're serious about this, right?"  
Starsky jumped up, stalking around the room. He turned back to the blond, glaring at him. "Yes, I'm serious. I don't know what else to tell you! I'm finished jumping through hoops for you. If you don't believe me then get out! I don't need this crap!"  
"Calm down, damn it! What you're telling me is pretty incredible. I can't help it if I'm a bit skeptical. Please, sit down."  
For a moment, Starsky refused to move then he shrugged and sat down. Hutch lowered his voice.   
"Look, I'm trying to solve a double homicide here. I want to catch this guy before he goes for a triple. This is uncharted territory for me. I've never dealt with a clairvoyant before. If I hurt your feelings, I'm sorry, but I want to catch this nut before he kills again. So, please, don't take everything I say to heart. I'm just trying to understand, OK?"  
Starsky took several deep breaths and composed himself. He nodded slightly. "OK, I'll admit that I'm probably not your typical witness. But, how am I supposed to help you if you doubt me? I saw what I saw, Lieutenant. No matter how much I want to, I can't make it go away."  
Hutch sighed and sat back. "So, let's go back to this guy. Can you tell me what he looked like?"  
"He was dressed all in black. He had a black fedora on, a long black coat, black jeans and black tennis shoes. Even his gloves were black. He wasn't real tall, maybe five seven or eight. And he wasn't heavy. I'd say he weighed about a hundred and fifty pounds or so."  
Hutch raised an eyebrow. "He wasn't exactly a giant, was he?"  
Starsky smiled wryly. "Well, the knife in his hand made him look a whole lot bigger."  
"I guess so. Did you see his face?"  
Starsky shook his head, frustrated. "No, that's the only thing I couldn't see. When he took off his hat, I could see that he had light brown hair, cut short. He was facing Jeanie and Tom, but all I could see was his back. I wish I had seen his face! I'd be after him so fast that all you could see was dust."  
Hutch pointed a long finger at him. "Now, wait just a sec. You're not a cop, Starsky. If you do figure out who this guy is, I don't want you going off half-cocked. He's killed two people; it obviously wouldn't bother him to kill you."  
"I may not be a cop, but I'm the one who knows what he looks like. I watched him kill two innocent people, Lieutenant. If I can find a way to stop him, I will. Bet on it."  
"We're getting off track here. You said you couldn't see his face, but you heard what he said. Do you think you'd recognize his voice if you heard it again?"  
Starsky nodded emphatically. "Oh, yeah! I'll hear that voice in my nightmares for the rest of my life."  
"Yeah, I guess you will. OK, I want you to remember his voice and tell me if you've heard it before. Does it sound like anyone you work with?"  
Starsky closed his eyes and concentrated on the disturbed voice echoing in his mind. A few minutes later, he shook his head.  
"No, I don't remember hearing it before. But, we have over a hundred employees at O'Neil's. I'm sure I don't know everyone there. Don't worry, though. I'll know that voice if I hear it again."  
Hutch made a face. "That's good, but I don't know how it's going to help us. I don't think we can run a line up of every employee at O'Neil's and ask them to say something for you. But, if we start closing in on him, it could be an ace up our sleeve."  
"Yeah, well right now, he's holding all the trump cards. So, what do we do now?"  
"We go talk to my captain. We tell him what you saw and see if we can come up with any ideas."  
Starsky held both hands out in front of him. "Now, wait a minute! I never said that I would tell anyone else about what I saw! Your captain isn't going to believe me and if word gets out what I told you, I'll be a laughing stock. I won't be able to work in this city again."  
"You're my only lead, Starsky. I have to tell the captain. I can't go to him with this information without telling him where I got it."  
Starsky laughed sarcastically. "That's too bad! I've tried to tell people about this curse before and it was a huge fiasco. I'm not going to go through that again."  
Hutch tried to reason with him. "Starsky, it wouldn't be the first time the police has used psychics to assist them in a case. It's well documented. I'm not telling you that Dobey is a pushover. You're going to have to convince him the way you convinced me, but it can be done. And we're not going to put you in the public eye. If this maniac finds out that you can tune in on him, he might come after you. If that happens, we'd be putting you in danger, and that goes against every regulation in the department."  
Starsky exhaled slowly. Then he gazed steadily at the blond. "Do you believe me?"  
"I'm trying to. I have to admit, it's not easy, but I'm keeping an open mind."  
Starsky grinned crookedly. "Well, at least you don't think I'm a candidate for the nut house anymore." He took a deep breath then nodded. "OK, let's go talk to your captain."  
Hutch smiled encouragingly. "Now you're talking. I'm not throwing you to the wolves, Starsky. I know you're worried about your reputation, and you have every right to be. But right now, I have to concentrate on this case. There's a lot more riding on this investigation than your reputation, or mine. The lives of everyone you work with depend on us finding the killer before he strikes again."  
Starsky looked down at his hands. "I know. It's just that I've tried using this curse before, and it's never worked. No one has ever believed me. I can't see your captain believing me now."  
Hutch shrugged. "Dobey comes across as a hard-ass, but he keeps an open mind. He's put up with my cockamamie schemes more than once. Besides, if you can give us a solid lead on this nut, Dobey will probably dance at your next wedding."  
Starsky snorted. "I think he'll be waiting a long time for that one."  
Hutch raised his eyebrow. "Oh, come on, Starsky. Don't tell me there's no one significant in your life."  
"Oh, yeah, I'm a regular swingin' bachelor, Lieutenant. Don't get me wrong. I've always enjoyed the company of a lovely lady, but every time I get within shouting distance of the altar, I start thinking about our honeymoon. I can see me having one of these premonitions right in the middle of things, if you get my drift. The lady in question would run away from my bed as fast as her pretty feet could carry her. I don't want to put myself, or her, through that. So, thanks, but no thanks."  
Hutch looked at Starsky's serious expression. "Yeah, I can see why you'd be a little gun shy. But you can't let it rule your life. You're not a leper, Starsky. Like you told me, it's not catching. You keep calling this talent of yours a curse. It doesn't have to be if you won't let it."  
He could tell by the expression on Starsky's face that he wasn't getting through, so he changed subjects. "Anyway, back to Dobey. If you tell him exactly what you told me, he'll believe you. He may not want to, but in the end, he'll have no choice. The bit about the suspect writing the message on the wall in blood, while wearing his gloves, wasn't released to the public. The lab boys found fibers in the message on that wall. Unfortunately, the gloves were the kind you can buy at any cheap department store, so that's no real help, either. Anyway, the only way you would know that is if you were the killer, or if you were at the scene. We've proven you weren't at the scene, and I don't think you're the killer, so that leaves only one other explanation: you're psychic. So, are you ready to go?"  
Starsky took a deep breath then exhaled. "Sure, why not? If he's going to throw me in a padded cell, there's no time like the present."  
Starsky followed the detective down to his car. As he pulled with both hands to close the passenger door, he cast a sideways glance at the blond.  
"Haven't had a raise in a long time, huh, Lieutenant?"  
Hutch looked offended. "Hey, I'll have you know this car is a classic. It gets me anywhere I need to go. Besides, I've seen that parade float you call a car. If I tried using a car like that on a stakeout, I might as well paint "Cop" in bright letters on the hood. That thing sticks out like a sore thumb."  
Starsky grinned wickedly. "Well, at least my car has some get up and go. It looks like your car's get up and go, got up and went."  
"That shows what you know, Mr. Ad Man. This car has plenty of juice under the hood. And at least, when I park it somewhere, I know it'll still be there when I come out. That refugee from a showroom just screams for some chop shop to put it out of its misery."  
Starsky snorted. "Of course no one's going to steal it. Who'd want it?"  
The two men laughed together then Starsky's expression turned serious as they arrived at the station. The banter he'd shared with Hutch didn't ease his nervousness as he thought about what was coming. As Hutch pulled into a parking space, Starsky looked over at him.  
"I hope you know what you're doing, Lieutenant. I feel like a lamb heading for slaughter."  
Hutch gazed at him encouragingly. "I know what I'm doing, don't worry. And with everything we've been through, don't you think it's time you stopped calling me 'Lieutenant'? My friends call me Hutch."  
Starsky smiled. "OK, Hutch it is. And my friends call me David, or Dave."  
Hutch stared frankly at the brunet and slowly shook his head. "No, I think Starsky fits you better. Do you mind?"  
"Nope. Coming from you, it sounds just right."  
Hutch clapped him on his shoulder and smiled. "Then come on; it's time to beard the lion in his den."  
When Starsky's eyes widened, the blond laughed. "I was kidding!"  
Hutch knocked on Dobey's door and herded the reluctant psychic into the office. Dobey sat quietly as the two men told him Starsky's versions of the murders. When they were finished, Dobey sat back in his chair, gazing steadily at them. Then he pointed his ink pen at Starsky.  
"I don't like cons, Mr. Starsky, and I like red herrings even less. We have two unsolved homicides right now, and no way of knowing when this nut is going to strike again. So, I don't have time to play games. If we spend precious time investigating what you say you saw, and come up with zip, I'm going to personally throw your ass in a cell and forget where I put the key. Do you understand me?"  
Starsky met his glare unflinchingly. "I'm not a crackpot, Captain. God knows, I never wanted to be a part of this. I didn't ask to see what happened. I can't turn this curse off and on at will. But I did see it, and I want to help. For God's sake, I work at O'Neil's too! I don't want to be next on this guy's list. The sooner you catch him, the better I'll sleep at night. I don't know how much help I'm going to be, but I'll do whatever I can."  
Dobey sighed and rubbed his forehead. "OK, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. It's not like we have a steady stream of witnesses knocking on our door. I want you to keep working with Hutch and see if you can pin down the identity of the person you saw. You two can figure out how to do that in a little while. Right now, I need to speak privately with Hutch. You can wait in the squad room, at his desk."  
Starsky looked at Hutch, who nodded slightly. He exhaled slowly and got up. Without looking back, he left the office and went to Hutch's desk. He didn't have to ask which one it was. He could "feel" the Lieutenant's aura all around it. As he sat down, he noticed the photograph of the young girl sitting on the desk. Without knowing why, he picked it up.  
Pain! He felt so much pain, and terror. She was so afraid! He could hear her crying for her mommy. Why didn't her mommy come for her? Why didn't the bad man take her home? She didn't like it here. She wanted to ride her bike again. She wanted to see her room again. She knew her mommy was worried about her. He could feel the tears running down her cheeks. She wanted to go home!  
He closed his eyes and concentrated. Slowly, he looked past the little girl and into the eyes of a madman. He gasped out loud and dropped the picture as the eyes seemed to look back at him.  
Starsky clasped his hands together and put them between his knees as he fought to control his breathing. His heartbeat slowed as he took several deep breaths. He managed to compose himself just as Hutch and Dobey came out of the other room. He looked at the two men expectantly.  
"Well, what's the verdict? Are you going to fit me for a straight jacket now, or do we get to work?"  
Hutch grinned. "We get to work. And unless you want to get up close and personal with that straight jacket, and I want to dig out my old uniform, we'd better come up with something fast."  
Starsky looked at the captain. "You still don't believe me, do you?"  
Dobey shook his head. "No, not completely, I'm afraid."  
Instead of answering him, Starsky picked up the picture again and held it out to Hutch.   
"Who's this?"  
Hutch took the photo out of his hands and put it back on the desk. "It's no one you know. She doesn't have anything to do with the case. Don't worry about her."  
Starsky picked up the picture again. "She's dead, isn't she?"  
Hutch snatched the picture back and laid it face down on the desk. "I said, don't worry about it! I don't want to talk about her."  
Starsky spoke softly to the two men. "I know where she is, and I know who killed her." Then he looked at Dobey. "If I can take you to her body, and tell you who killed her, will you believe me then?"  
Dobey and Hutch exchanged looks. Dobey frowned doubtfully. "You can do that?"  
Starsky nodded slowly. "Yes."  
Hutch closed his eyes against the onslaught of painful memories. Then he exhaled slowly and held the picture out to Starsky.  
"Her name is Melanie Rivers. She was abducted from her home while riding her bicycle. I've been working the case for over a year, but we never found her."   
Starsky looked around the squad room before accepting the picture. "Can we go back into your office, Captain? I've never liked performing in front of an audience."  
Dobey turned without a word and led them back to his office. Starsky settled on the small love seat and took the photo from Hutch. He concentrated on her face, fighting through the torrent of pain that assaulted him. When he spoke, his voice was oddly detached.   
I can see her. She's riding her bike up and down the sidewalk. Her mom won't let her cross the street by herself. She got the bike for her birthday. It's white, with chrome handlebars and a pink seat. The handgrips are white with pink streamers and she has a basket with flowers attached to the handlebars. Her mom is in the house, cleaning. She looks out the window every few minutes, checking on Melanie. She's not worried, because everyone else in the neighborhood is gone. It's quiet. Even the dogs are inside.   
The phone rings, and her mommy rushes to answer it. It's her sister, the one that moved to New York. They haven't seen each other since she moved, so she sits down on the couch and they talk for a long time. Melanie is still riding her bicycle, and doesn't see the car until it pulls even with her. She looks toward it and sees the puppet for the first time. She loves puppets almost as much as she loves her bike. She's seen this puppet before, in the park. Her mom takes her on Sundays to watch the puppet show. Her favorite is Glenda the good witch, but she likes Sparky the dog, too. She gets off the bike and walks toward the car. Her mommy has told her not to go near strangers, but she knows Sparky, so she's not afraid. When she gets closer, the man holding Sparky smiles at her and speaks.   
'Hi, Melanie! I like your bike. You got it for your birthday, didn't you?'  
Melanie looks down at the sidewalk and nods shyly. 'Uh huh.'  
'It's very pretty. I wish I could ride it.'  
Melanie giggles and looks at the man. 'You're a grown up. You're too big to ride my bike.'  
He grins back. 'Oh, yeah, I forgot. Well, maybe Sparky could ride it.'  
She giggles again. 'Sparky's a dog, he can't ride a bike.'  
'Oh, you've met Sparky already? That's right; I've seen you before in the park. You like the puppet shows, don't you?'  
'Uh huh. My mommy takes me after church. I like Glenda the best, but Sparky's nice, too.'  
'Well, I'll tell you what. Since I didn't get you anything for your birthday, how about I take you to the park and put on a special show just for you? I'll even let you be Glenda.'  
'OK, can my mommy come too?'  
'Sure, but I don't see her. Where is she?'  
'She's inside, cleaning house.'  
'Oh, then she's busy. That's too bad, because I have to be home before supper, or my mom will be mad. I'll bet your mom wouldn't want you to be late for supper, would she?'  
'No, she'd be really mad.'  
'OK, so we'll just ride down to the park, and I'll put on a really good show for you, and we'll be back before she knows you're gone. Then, when you come back, you can tell her all about it. Does that sound good to you?'  
Melanie takes a tiny step toward the car then looks back at her house 'But, shouldn't I ask my mommy? She told me to stay on the sidewalk.'  
'She told you to stay on the sidewalk when you ride your bike. She's a smart mommy. She doesn't want you to get hurt. But, you'll be with me, so you'll be OK. After all, I'm a grown up, too, right?'  
As Melanie hesitates, Sparky pipes up. 'Come on, Melanie! We're going to have so much fun! Don't you want to see the show?'  
She finally agrees and goes around to the other side of the car. Sparky opens the door and she climbs in. The man smiles at her and she smiles back. But instead of going toward the park, he turns in a different direction. She looks at the man, curious but not afraid yet.  
'This isn't the way to the park. You're supposed to turn on that street back there.'  
'Well, this is a different way. Have you ever been to the pond at the back of the park?'  
'No.'  
'Well, there are some ducks in the pond, and one of them just had babies. Have you ever seen a baby duck before?'  
'No.'  
'See, there's another surprise for you! I'll take you to see the ducks and I even know where we can get some bread to feed them. Then I'll put on the show for you. Would you like that?'  
She smiles happily and nods then settles down in the seat. She can't see where they're going, but trusts the man. After what seems to be a long time, the man finally stops the car. But when she looks out the window, all she sees is a run down house.   
'Where are we? I don't see any ducks.'  
'This is where I'll get the bread. Come on; I'll let you carry it for me. We'll only be a minute.'  
They get out of the car and walk to the house. He even lowers his hand so she can hold Sparky's paw. When they go inside, she doesn't like the house. It smells and it's dirty. She looks all around, but doesn't see any bread. For the first time, she's afraid.  
'I don't see any bread. Can we go now? I don't have to feed the ducks. We've been gone a long time and my mommy is probably looking for me. I think I should go home. I can see the puppet show Sunday, after church.'  
He looks at her with strange, glowing eyes. 'This is your home now, Melanie. We're going to live here together, forever.'  
She backs toward the door. 'No! I want to go home! I want my mommy!'  
But there's no one around to hear her screams. And after a while, there's only silence.  
Starsky shuddered and opened his eyes. Dobey and Hutch watched him without speaking, stunned. After a moment, the brunet's vision cleared and he looked over at them.   
"I can take you where she's buried. He's very confident. You haven't found any of the other bodies, so he wasn't too careful about where he buried Melanie."  
Two pairs of eyes widened in shock. Hutch cleared his throat, and sputtered.   
"What other bodies?"  
"Melanie wasn't the first, and she wasn't the last, either. He's been doing this a long time and no one has ever suspected him. You talked to him twice and you didn't even suspect him."  
Hutch's eyes flashed. "Now, wait a minute! You're telling me that this guy has been right under our noses this whole time? Do you know who he is?"  
Starsky nodded. "He's the kind of person nobody really sees. He's always there, in the background, but no one pays attention to him. He never worries about being discovered, because he's supposed to be there. People see the truck that he drives all of the time. He goes all over the city, in the best neighborhoods. They never think twice about him, because he's the guy that cleans their pools. Most of them are at work while he's there, so he can take his time. He knows where all the kids live and he knows the best time to take them. They're not afraid of him, because he's just the pool guy.   
He didn't need the truck when he took Melanie though, because he lives only two doors down from her. He wanted her for a long time, but her mother always watched her out the window, until that day. He was on his way to a different neighborhood when he saw Melanie on her bicycle. He keeps Sparky with him, and some pictures of puppies, too. He watched the house to see if her mom would come outside, and if she had, he would have made up a story and driven away. But she didn't come out, so he used the puppet to gain Melanie's confidence. If she had been afraid, and refused to go with him, he would simply have gone to his next victim. But she trusted him, until it was too late."  
Hutch stared into space, thinking furiously. Then he snapped his fingers and jumped up. He yanked the door open and stalked into the squad room, heading for the files. He pulled Melanie's file out of the drawer and thumbed through it then went back to Dobey's office.  
He shoved the folder into Dobey's hands. "We interviewed one of the neighbors twice. His name is Alvin Garvey. He was really concerned about Melanie. He even joined the neighborhood search parties when they went out to look for her. He said he wasn't home the day Melanie was kidnapped, because it was his day off from work and he had errands to run. We checked him out, but he didn't have any priors, so we didn't look that hard at his alibi. The only reason we questioned him again was because of Melanie's mother. She told us about the puppet shows, and said that Garvey had something to do with them. He told us he was an amateur carpenter and made the stages for the shows as a favor for a friend."  
Hutch punched his fist into his palm. "Damn it! We had him twice! He acted like he was so damned worried about Melanie! If we'd paid more attention to him, Melanie might still be alive."  
Starsky shook his head. "She was dead the minute she got in that car. You might have found her body sooner, but that's all. He does what he wants to them and then he kills them, and he doesn't leave any witnesses. You've been beating yourself up for nothing. There was no way you could have prevented her death."  
Dobey put a hand on Hutch's shoulder. "And there was no way you could have known about the others. The best thing you can do now is put this guy away, before he kills another little girl."  
Hutch shook off the pain he was feeling and straightened his shoulders. He motioned to Starsky.  
"Come on; we've got work to do."   
Starsky rushed to keep up with the Lieutenant has he strode down the long corridor. Hutch stopped at a door marked "Records and Information" then went inside without knocking. He walked over to the officer behind the desk.  
"Charlie, I need you to do me a big favor."  
"Sure, Lieutenant, what do you need?"  
Hutch handed him the file he still carried. "I need you get a list of all of the open missing children cases we've had in the last five years. Then call Surf's Up Pool's and Spas and see if you can get a schedule for Alvin Garvey. Go as far back as they can and then compare it with the dates from the missing children's reports."  
Charlie took the file and glanced at the page Hutch had indicated. Then he looked up at Hutch.   
"Should I pull all of them, or just male, or female?"  
Hutch stopped for a moment then looked at Starsky.  
Starsky returned the look and replied softly. "Both."  
"What ages should I concentrate on? The more information you can give me, the faster I can get it done."  
Again, Hutch looked at the brunet. Starsky answered the question.   
"He likes them young, so between the ages of 6 and 11, I'd say."  
Charlie wrote on a small yellow pad. Then he grinned at the blond. "I assume that you want it yesterday?"  
Hutch allowed himself a small smile. "How did you guess?"  
Charlie answered with a twinkle in his eye. "Lieutenant, you always want it yesterday."  
Hutch reached over and patted the older man on his shoulder. "I know I do, Charlie. You've put up with me for a long time now. But, this is really important. I know you've got a dozen departments hounding you, but I'd really appreciate it if you could give this top priority."  
Charlie looked down at the file and read it closely for the first time. His eyes widened.   
"Do you think this guy killed her, Lieutenant?"  
Hutch nodded solemnly. "I do, and I think he killed a lot of other kids, too. Melanie's been missing for over a year now, and there's no telling how many other kids he's gotten hold of, since then. Now do you see why it's so important?"  
"You bet I do! I'll get on it right away."  
Hutch smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Charlie. I'll be out of the station for a while, but you can get me on my radio, if you find anything."  
"Sure thing, Lieutenant. I can't promise how soon I'll be finished, but I'll get in touch with you ASAP."  
"I don't care what time it is, if you find anything, you call me, OK?"  
Charlie nodded. "I will, Lieutenant, I swear."  
Hutch smiled again then left with Starsky in tow. The brunet looked quizzically at Hutch.  
"Where are we going now?"  
Hutch looked grim. "We're going to find Melanie. Come on; we'll need some equipment."  
Starsky followed Hutch to the basement of the station. He looked around, curious. They stopped in front of a small office, with a large glass window in front. A small man wearing a uniform sat at a desk just beyond the window. He looked up with a proprietary expression on his face when Hutch rapped on the counter.  
"Yes, Lieutenant, what can I do for you?"  
"I need a shovel, Biggy."  
The officer sniggered softly. "What do you need a shovel for? Are you digging for clues?"  
Hutch gave a long suffering sigh. "Just get the shovel, will you, Bigelow?"  
As Starsky hid his smile, Bigelow slapped a form down on the counter. "Fill this out in triplicate. Press hard please, to make sure all copies are legible."  
As the officer walked to the back of the room, Hutch looked apologetically at Starsky.  
"You have to excuse Biggy. He thinks he owns the joint."  
Starsky grinned openly. "That's OK; I think he's a riot."  
"Well, you wouldn't think so if you had to put up with his sense of humor every time you requisitioned something. I guess we can't blame him, though. The only time he sees a human being is when we come down to harass him."  
Bigelow returned with the shovel and sat it down beside him. He spent several minutes scrutinizing the form Hutch had filled out then pushed the shovel through the window.   
"There you go, Lieutenant. I trust you will return it in the same condition as when you checked it out."  
Hutch scowled. "What do you think I'm going to do, break it?"  
Bigelow looked offended. "I meant clean, Lieutenant. I don't want any mud contaminating the property room. Some of our equipment is very sensitive."  
Hutch glared at Bigelow then turned to Starsky. "Come on; we need to get going. Good-bye, Biggy."  
The officer sniffed disdainfully as the two men went up the stairs. "And while you've got that shovel, maybe you should dig for your sense of humor. You seem to have lost it. Detectives!"  
Both men were quiet as they headed for Hutch's dilapidated LTD. There wasn't any banter this time about the condition of the old Ford. Each man was occupied with his own thoughts. While Hutch's mind was centered on the possible conclusion of the year old case, Starsky was preparing himself for the difficult and painful task ahead. He had lived with his "curse" all of his life, but in the past, it had only been a minor annoyance to him. Now he was hip deep in a homicide, and delving into a psychotic killer's mind was a new and unsettling experience for him.   
Two psychotic killers, he amended to himself. Although Melanie's case had taken on a new urgency, there was still the matter of the maniac that was killing his friends and co-workers. Starsky understood the dedication Hutch felt for finding Melanie's killer, but the time they were spending on this case chafed at him. The other killer was still out there and probably honing his knife for another victim's blood. Who's next? Whose mind am I going to jump into next, and whose murder am I going to witness? Damn it, we have to find this guy soon! I've seen enough blood to last me two lifetimes!  
As Hutch started the car, he glanced at Starsky. "How do you want to do this?"  
Starsky rubbed his jaw. "Go to Melanie's house. I can retrace the path he took. It'll be faster that way."  
Hutch nodded briefly and drove to the scene of the kidnapping. He pulled over to the curb in front of Melanie's house.  
"Which way now?"  
Starsky closed his eyes and concentrated. He opened them and pointed straight ahead.  
"Go that way. I'll let you know when to turn."  
For the next twenty minutes, Hutch drove while Starsky directed him. They left the small suburb and went farther into the undeveloped areas. The blond glanced at Starsky every few minutes, but the psychic was silent. Then, after the highway had turned into a two-lane country road, Starsky pointed to a dirt road to his left.  
"Turn there! The cabin that he took her to is about half a mile down that road."  
Hutch turned as instructed and slowed the Ford down. The road was little more than a path worn in the stand of trees, and the pot holes that studded it were hard on the old car's suspension. Finally, ten minutes later, a rickety log cabin came into view. Hutch stopped the car a few yards from the front door, and the two men got out.  
Slowly, Starsky walked toward the house and halted in front of the door. He took a deep breath then went inside. The psychic stood quietly in the middle of the room, looking around. Without looking at Hutch, he spoke softly, in the detached way that Hutch was becoming accustomed to. He knew that Starsky was no longer aware of him. The brunet was in the past now, with Melanie and her killer.  
"He told her they were coming in to get bread for the ducks, but she doesn't see any. She doesn't like this place. It smells bad and the dust makes her sneeze. She's afraid now and tells him she wants to go home. Her mommy will know she's gone by now, and she doesn't want to worry her. But he tells her that this is where they live now, and that she's never going to see her mommy again. She cries and begs him to take her home, but he just stares at her. She tries to run away, but he catches her before she gets to the door. She's screaming as he rips her dress and pulls her hair, but no one can hear her. He does horrible things to her, but the puppet is the only one who sees. Her mind regresses and she cries out to the puppet to help her, but he doesn't answer. The brown buttons that he has for eyes reflects the horror she's going through. By the time he's finished with her, she's curled into a ball and her mind has retreated completely, away from the pain.  
Her eyes are as empty as Sparky's when he stands up and looks around the room. He's back in control of himself, but instead of feeling remorse for what he's done, he laughs out loud. He only feels alive after he hurts them. He looks down at her with contempt then kneels beside her. He puts his hands around her throat and starts to squeeze. Even though her mind is gone, she struggles, but she's too weak. Her hands clutch at his as her face turns blue. She can't breathe! She can't…"  
Starsky staggered back as his own hands clutch his throat. His blue eyes were blank as he lost himself in the horror of what happened. Instantly, Hutch sprang toward him and tried to pry his hands apart.  
"Starsky! Snap out of it! Come on; it's over! It's time to come back."  
Panic overwhelmed him as he pulled uselessly at the other man's hands. Finally, he slapped the brunet hard across his face.  
"Starsky! Damn it, stop it! Look at me!"  
Slowly, Starsky focused his eyes as his hands dropped to his side, limp. Then he reached up with one shaky hand and rubbed his throat, coughing. Hutch sagged in relief then held him by his shoulders.  
"Are you OK now? Are you with me?"  
Starsky nodded mutely and looked around the room. After a few moments, he turned away from the detective, embarrassed.  
"I'm sorry. That's never happened before. I was inside her head and couldn't get out. If you hadn't been here…"  
Hutch shook him gently. "I was here. Nothing happened and you don't have anything to be sorry about."  
He grabbed an old chair and pushed Starsky down on it. Then he ran out to the car and rummaged around the back seat. He found a bottle of water and trotted back to the cabin. With his shirttail, he wiped the mouth of the bottle and offered it to Starsky.  
"Here, take this. It's warm, but it's wet. Drink it."  
Starsky did as he was told, choking slightly as the liquid ran down his sore throat. Hutch waited for a moment.  
"Are you OK now? Do you think you can take me to where he buried her?"  
Starsky stood up unsteadily and handed the bottle back to Hutch. He nodded without speaking and started walking. Hutch quickly retrieved the shovel from the trunk of his car and followed the brunet.   
Starsky led him past a small grove of trees and into a clearing. He kneeled down and pointed to a small mound of dirt that was covered by leaves.  
"She's here. He didn't bother to bury her too deep. He didn't think anyone would ever find her, or this cabin."  
Hutch gently moved him out of the way and started digging. He was only a few inches down when a small patch of white appeared. He threw the shovel to the side and continued digging with his hands. Slowly, he moved the dirt away from the decayed pieces of fabric. Soon, a small bone appeared, and then another. Hutch kept scooping the dirt out of the grave until the tiny skeleton was completely revealed.  
A single tear ran down his face as he closed his eyes.  
"It's OK, sweetheart. We've come to take you home."


	2. Chapter 2

Rejected: Part 2

Starsky stood to one side as Hutch said his final farewell to the child he had sought for so long. A few minutes later, the blond stood up and rubbed his face with his hands. He looked around the clearing as if seeing it for the first time then jogged back to the car with Starsky following. Hutch opened the passenger side and sat down, reaching for the radio's microphone.  
"Adam-14 to Dispatch."  
The radio crackled then a female voice answered. "Dispatch to Adam-14. You're coming in loud and clear, Lieutenant. What do you need?"  
"Minnie, patch me through to Dobey, then get a crime lab out to old Dover's Road. It's about ten miles north of Highway 10. It's going to be really hard to find, so have the van home in on my signal. Tell them to be prepared to secure an old crime scene. I doubt there's much left, but I want them to gather any evidence that they can find."  
"Roger, Adam-14. The crime lab is on its way. Stand by for Captain Dobey."  
The radio crackled again then Dobey's voice came over the microphone.  
"Hutch, did you find her?"  
"Yeah, Harold, we found her. The body's almost completely decomposed, but I think we can get an ID with dental records. There are still a few pieces of the dress left, too. It's the same one she's wearing in the picture. I've got the crime team on the way."  
"Good. When they get there, I want you and Mr. Starsky to high-tail it back here. We might have something on your suspect."  
Hutch raised his eyebrows. "That was fast! OK, they should be here in about twenty minutes then we'll be on our way. Oh, one more thing. Ask Charlie to search the property records and see if he can find out who owns this dump. It looks like it's been abandoned for a while, but it's worth a try. He might try doing a property search under Garvey's name first, though."  
"I'll have him get right on it. That would be a break for us, if it works out. Dobey out."  
As soon as the crime team arrived and started their routine, Hutch gathered Starsky up and went back to the precinct. Dobey was waiting for them with a printout on his desk. He pointed to the paper as Hutch walked in.  
"We compared Garvey's schedule with the missing kids. We came up with four possible matches in the last year alone."  
Hutch sat down and read the printout carefully. In each case, Garvey was within blocks of the location where the child disappeared. In two of the cases, he was literally right next door to the victim's home.   
He turned back to the Captain. "I want the files on each of these kids. Garvey was in the area, but that's not enough for an indictment. We need solid evidence linking him to the kids. Judging from what little we have in Melanie's case, that's not going to be easy. He covered his tracks well, and there weren't any eye witnesses. He's using his job to stalk his victims and picks a time when there isn't anyone else around."  
Dobey nodded. "I'll call Charlie and have him deliver the files right away. In the meantime, what are you going to do?"  
Hutch shrugged his shoulders, but Starsky was the one to reply.  
"You should go to his house. You interviewed him twice, but you never went past the front room. He likes to keep trophies. He kept Melanie's barrettes and something from each of the other kids. They're small, so he keeps them hidden in his closet."  
Dobey looked at him in astonishment. "How do you know that? Never mind, don't answer that. I forgot who I was talking to."  
Hutch smiled in understanding then changed the subject. "I'll need a search warrant. Do you think there's enough evidence for one?"  
Dobey tapped his pencil on the desk. "I'll try Judge Harmon. He's usually the most cooperative and he has a soft spot for kids. If we can convince him that Garvey is a wolf in sheep's clothing, going after innocent kids, he'll bend a little. Give me a little while and I'll see if I can reach him."  
Hutch nodded and turned to Starsky. "Are you hungry? You've been through quite an ordeal today and it's been a long time since breakfast."  
Starsky gave him a crooked grin. "I'm always hungry, and right now, I could eat a horse. What did you have in mind?"  
"I have a friend that owns a bar called The Pits. He's a little unconventional, but he cooks a mean hamburger. It's not far from here, if you're game."  
Starsky thought about it then nodded. "Sounds good to me. Shall we?"  
Hutch clapped the other man on his shoulder. "We shall."   
The bar wasn't far from the station. Starsky followed Hutch into the dimly lit room, and looked around with curiosity. It definitely was different from the bars he used to frequent. A thin black man noticed them and waved from behind the bar. He drew two beers from the tap and sauntered over to them. He sat the drinks in front of the two men and leaned against the bar.  
"Hey, Hutch, where you been? I haven't seen you in weeks. I thought you'd transferred out or something."  
Hutch smiled and sat on a bar stool. "No such luck, Huggy. I don't think any other precinct would have me. I've just been busy. You know how it is."  
"Yeah, the wicked doesn't rest, and neither do the good guys. So, what'll you have, fellas? Speak now and I shall grant your fondest wish, as long as Angie knows how to cook it, that is."  
Hutch grinned and then remembered his manners. "I'm sorry, Starsky. Huggy, this is David Starsky. He's helping me on a case. Starsky, this is Huggy Bear, the proprietor of this dump…er, establishment."  
Huggy threw a mock glare at Hutch then smiled at the other man. "Don't listen to him. He's taken up space in this dump for longer than I care to admit. It's nice to meet you, Starsky. I know you're not a cop, so what do you do when you aren't helping Blondie?"  
Starsky gazed quizzically at the black man. "How do you know I'm not a cop?"  
Huggy grinned. "You don't have the look. The Nordic prince here could walk into a room with a Godzilla suit on and you'd still see the badge in his pocket. You, on the other hand, look like a normal citizen of this fine city."  
Starsky hid his grin as he took a drink. He definitely didn't feel normal at that moment. "I'm in advertising. I work for O'Neil and Associates." He looked around again and grinned openly. "This is quite a place you have here. It's comfortable and easy going. A man can relax here. How's the food?"  
"We make the best burgers in the city, bar none. Don't let Blondie tell you any different, cause all he ever eats is tofu and desecrated animal organs."  
Hutch choked on his drink. "That's desiccated, Huggy. I try to eat healthy, that's all. All that red meat is bad for you. It's full of cholesterol and animal fat."  
Huggy winked at Starsky. "Well, my burgers have something that health food doesn't have: taste. So, what will it be, Starsky?"  
"I think I'll try the burger, and some fries. My stomach wouldn't know a healthy meal if it walked up and said hello, and I think I'm a little old to change my habits now."  
Huggy smiled at the Lieutenant. "See, a man after my own heart. One Huggy's special coming right up. What about you, Hutch? You want your usual? Angie made a fresh batch of that tuna salad you like so much this morning. He must be psychic, because you're the only customer I've got that's crazy enough to eat it."  
Starsky watched the proprietor with interest as he disappeared in the back of the bar. When he came back out, Starsky asked the question that was on his mind. "Do you believe in psychics, Huggy? Or were you just making a joke?"  
The thin man nodded seriously. "I believe in psychics, witches, werewolves, vampires and voodoo. Just because I don't have first hand experience of any of those phenomena, doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Now my friend here is the skeptic. He has to see it all written down in black and white before he believes it."  
Hutch cast a sideways look at Starsky then smiled at his friend. "You never know, Huggy. I just might change my mind about that, one of these days."  
Huggy laughed scornfully. "When donkey's fly, my blond brother. You are the original doubting Thomas. Ain't nothing wrong with that, it's just who you are."  
Hutch simply smiled and shrugged. They talked for a few more minutes until a customer at the other end of the bar demanded attention. When Huggy left to take care of him, Starsky smiled and nodded toward the black man.  
"I like him. He's quite a character."  
"Yeah, he is, and he's a good friend. He's saved my bacon more than once. And he really does believe in those things. He's seen more in his lifetime than I ever will."  
Before Starsky could answer, Angie brought their food. They concentrated on eating then relaxed with another beer until Huggy caught their attention. He was holding the receiver of his phone in one hand and gesturing with the other.  
Hutch put his napkin on the bar and got up. "That's probably Dobey. Sit tight, I'll be right back."  
Starsky sipped his beer as he watched Hutch. He could tell Hutch was happy by the expression on his face. When the detective hung up the phone, Starsky drained the last of his beer and set the empty glass on the bar. He stood up as Hutch approached him.  
"Did you get the warrant?"  
"Yeah, bless Judge Harmon's soul. Dobey said it took some fancy footwork, but we got it. And we got something else. As soon as Charlie called the County tax assessor and she typed in Garvey's name, two pieces of property popped up. One was his house and the other one was a certain cabin in the woods. It seems he owns six acres of prime lumber. He's paid taxes on it since he inherited it from his parents. Let's go."  
When they arrived at Garvey's house, two unmarked cars were parked on the curb. Hutch told Starsky to wait then talked to the detectives Dobey had dispatched for back up. After a few minutes, he motioned for Starsky to get out of the car.  
The brunet walked up to the Lieutenant. Hutch pulled him to one side.  
"OK, we're going in. I want you to stay behind me, and don't say anything. I told the other detectives that you're a consultant on the case. Technically, you shouldn't even be here, but I figure you've earned the right. Plus, I want your impression of Garvey. If he acts like he's going ballistic, give me a sign. Kick me, tap me on the shoulder, or do whatever you can, but stay out of the line of fire. This creep thinks he's made fools out of the police, so he's not going to be happy when he realizes we're on to him. Are you ready?"  
Starsky took a deep breath then nodded. "I'm ready."  
Hutch waited until the other detectives were hidden around the house then knocked on the door. A few moments later, Garvey answered it.  
"Why, its Lieutenant Hutchinson isn't it? I'm surprised to see you, Lieutenant. What can I do for you?"  
"There have been some developments on Melanie's case, Mr. Garvey. I'd like to discuss them with you, if you have the time. May we come in?"  
Garvey looked at Starsky curiously. Hutch smiled neutrally.  
"Oh, sorry, this is Mr. Starsky. He's been assisting the department with the investigation."  
"That's very kind of you, Mr. Starsky. Come in, gentlemen. I don't know how I can help after all this time, but I'll do what I can."  
Hutch nodded his thanks and stepped inside. Starsky straightened his shoulders, and prepared himself emotionally for the upcoming ordeal. What was that old line? Come in to my parlor, said the spider to the fly. Starsky hoped fervently that they wouldn't be caught in this particular spider's web.  
Starsky followed Hutch and Garvey into his living room. The older man motioned for them to sit down.  
"Make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen. Now, what can I do for you?"  
Hutch looked around the room. "You've got a nice home, Mr. Garvey. Have you lived here long?"  
Garvey nodded. "I grew up here. My parents bought the house right after they were married. I was an only child, and when they passed away, I inherited it. I never married, you see, so I didn't see any reason to change anything. It suits my needs perfectly."  
"I can understand that. If you don't mind, I'd like to review what we went over the last time we talked. You work for Surf's Up Pools and Spas, right?"  
Garvey nodded. "I've been with them for about 5 years now."  
"And where did you work before that?"  
"I was a grounds keeper for the park. I've always enjoyed working out doors, you see. When my father died of a heart attack, I left the parks department and stayed home to take care of my mother. She had MS, and was confined to a wheelchair most of the time. She had a massive stroke and died a year later. At the time, there weren't any openings at the department, so I took a job with Surf's UP. It was supposed to be temporary, but I liked the job so well that I stayed. Not only do I get to be outside, but I travel all over the city. It's the best of both worlds, as far as I'm concerned. The pay certainly isn't that much, but I have few material needs."  
Hutch nodded understandingly. "OK, let's go back to Melanie. You said in our previous interviews that you saw her playing outside on numerous occasions. Did you ever notice anyone paying undue attention to her? Or did you notice any unfamiliar vehicles in the area at the time she disappeared?"  
Garvey shook his head regretfully. "After we talked the last time, I wracked my brain, hoping to remember something that would help. As I stated before, most of the men in this neighborhood work. It's an old fashioned suburb, Lieutenant. The men go to work and their wives stay home and take care of the children. Melanie loved to play outside, but she was always under the watchful eye of her mother. Any male would be noticed lurking around during the day, and so would any vehicle. Of course, most of the time, I was gone myself. I happened to be off the day Melanie disappeared, but I spent most of that time running personal errands. By the time I returned home, the police were already searching for her. "  
"In one of our interviews with Mrs. Rivers, she said you did some construction work for the puppet show that's held in the park. Do you recall seeing Melanie at any of the shows?"  
"Unfortunately, I did the work at night, when the kids weren't around. But, I know she loved the shows. All of the children in the neighborhood did. It was a gathering place for them, and their mothers would visit while the show was going on. The park was somewhere safe that they could go. Do you think someone from the parks department was watching her?"  
"It's a possibility, Mr. Garvey. OK, I think that's enough review. Let me tell you what we know now. We've had some new leads, and we think she was lured into a car and taken out of the area. Our investigation led us to an abandoned shack on old Dover's road. Our crime team found the remains of a child buried a few yards from the shack. The post-mortem won't be complete for a couple of days, but we think the body is Melanie's."  
Garvey paled. "That's horrible. How tragic! To think that poor child was murdered is inconceivable. How long do you think she's been there?"  
"From the condition of the body, she was murdered shortly after she disappeared. We're accepting the possibility that any evidence was washed away with last year's rains, but the team is combing the entire area as we speak. But we did discover something interesting when we unearthed the body. There were small pieces of the fabric in her dress in the grave, but the barrettes she was wearing were missing. Plastic doesn't deteriorate that quickly, so we think the killer took them as a trophy."  
"That's positively ghoulish! What kind of monster would kill an angel like Melanie and keep her barrettes? It's more than the mind can accept."  
"Yes, it is. We checked with the county tax assessor, and it seems that you own that particular piece of property, Mr. Garvey. Could you tell us the last time you were there?"  
Garvey wrung his hands together in his lap. "Oh, dear, what an awful coincidence that is! I assure you, Lieutenant, I haven't been there in years. My father originally bought the property with the intention of building a new home. My mother was diagnosed with MS shortly after that, so the plans never materialized. I keep the taxes up simply because it's a valuable piece of real estate. I've never developed it and I have no intentions of doing so."  
"I see. To your knowledge, does anyone else know that you own this property? The location is secluded and isn't easily accessible, so it would be the perfect place to hide a body."  
"I can't recall discussing it with anyone. I wish I could be of more help, Lieutenant. I'm sure this is a disappointment for you, but I had nothing to do with Melanie's murder, and I have no idea who buried her on my property. I'm afraid this is all a horrible coincidence."  
Hutch narrowed his eyes. "Really? And is it simply a coincidence that four other children disappeared in the last year, and you just happened to be in the area? We talked to your supervisor and got a record of your work schedule for the past twelve months. I have other detectives talking to your customers and to the families of the missing children now. To put it bluntly, Mr. Garvey, you've just become our prime suspect. Unless, of course, you can come up with an iron-clad alibi for the day Melanie was kidnapped."  
For the first time, Garvey's calm demeanor slipped. His eyes narrowed and his words were clipped.  
"Really, Lieutenant, you can't expect the clerks I talked to over a year ago to remember precisely when I was in their establishment. I'm sure they see hundreds of people a day. Now, if you're charging me with a crime, I'd like to call my lawyer. Otherwise, you'll have to excuse me."  
"I think calling your lawyer is a good idea, Mr. Garvey. While you're at it, you can tell him that we have a warrant to search this house."  
Garvey jumped up, agitated. "You can't do that! What grounds do you have? You can't simply walk in here and start tearing my home apart without some evidence that I've committed a crime."  
"We have evidence, Mr. Garvey. We have your close proximity to Melanie, for one thing. We've linked you to not only Melanie's disappearance but to the other children's as well. And last, but not least, you own the property where Melanie was buried. I know that's not much, but Judge Harmon thought it was enough for a search warrant."  
"And exactly what are you looking for, Lieutenant?"  
"I think you know, Mr. Garvey. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll have the detectives that are waiting outside come in and we'll get to work. Besides, you have a call to make."  
Garvey sputtered, but didn't say anything as he headed for the phone. Hutch motioned for Starsky to remain seated then walked over to the door. He waved for the other detectives to come into the house. He was waiting for them at the entrance to the living room.  
"Simmons, Babcock, you take the kitchen and the bathroom. I have no idea what we're looking for, so be thorough. Garner, you take the front room and the back bedroom. I'll take Garvey's bedroom. I know it's been a year since Melanie disappeared, but give it your best. Garvey has a good point. Everything we have up to now is purely circumstantial. Any public defender could poke holes in our case without breaking a sweat. If we're going to bring this lunatic down, we need to find something incriminating here. If you find anything, bag it first and then call out. Make sure the chain of evidence stays intact. We don't want this nut getting off on a technicality."  
The other detectives nodded then went off in their assigned directions. Hutch waited until they were all occupied then motioned for Starsky to follow him. When they were away from the others, Hutch turned to the psychic.  
"OK, this one's for all the marbles. If we don't find those trophies, we'll never convince a judge that he killed so much as a fly."  
Starsky walked over to the closet and opened it. He stood, staring at the contents then pointed to a medium-sized box on the top shelf.  
"They're all in there."  
Hutch put on a pair of exam gloves then took the box from the shelf. The two men exchanged looks then Hutch opened the box. When the contents were revealed, his jaw clenched with anger. He closed his eyes as he fought to compose himself then nodded with satisfaction. Clutching the box in his hands, Hutch walked out of the bedroom. Simmons was coming out of the kitchen when the two men reached the living room. Garvey was standing in the middle of the room, watching the detectives search his house. Hutch strode over to the suspect, his face a mask of fury.  
"You really thought we were stupid, didn't you, Garvey? You were so damned sure of yourself that you kept this stuff right under our noses. How many kids have you murdered, you lousy pervert? How many little mementos did you keep?"  
Garvey stepped back, his eyes darting around the room. "That's not mine. I don't know where you found it, but I've never seen that box before. You must have planted it. You're trying to frame me!"  
"Bull shit! I'm sure when our lab boys get into this box; they'll find your grubby little fingerprints all over it. We told you that Melanie's barrettes were missing when we found her body. Well, guess what I found in this box? You see, her mother said the white dress she was wearing was her favorite, and she always wore the same barrettes in her hair when she wore the dress. I've looked at that dress and those barrettes for a year now. She was wearing the same outfit when she posed for the picture that sits on my desk. I hope you told your lawyer to meet you at the station, because that's just where you're headed. You're under arrest for the kidnapping and murder of Melanie Rivers, and that's just for starters. By the time I'm through with you, you'll wish you'd crawled in that grave with her. Get him out of here."  
As Babcock put the handcuffs on Garvey and ushered him out of the room, Hutch handed the box to Simmons.  
"Get that down to the lab pronto. And I don't want the inside of that box touched until it gets there. I want this done by the book, all the way."  
"You got it, Hutch. You still want us to toss the place?"  
"You damn right I do. If he was conceited enough to horde the stuff he took from the victims, there's no telling what else he kept. If you need to, call in the troops, but I want this whole place torn apart."  
"Where will you be if we need you?"  
Hutch's grin was feral. "Why, I'll be waiting for Mr. Garvey and his lawyer. We're going to have a nice, long chat."  
He motioned to Starsky with his head then walked out to the car. As he opened the driver's side door, he looked over the roof at the brunet.  
"I owe you a big one, Starsky. If you hadn't led us to Garvey, there's no telling how many more kids he would have killed."  
Starsky shrugged. "Well, you can repay me by finding the nut that's killing my friends. I'm glad you found Melanie's killer, but there's another maniac out there, and he's declared open season on everyone I work with."  
"Oh, we'll get him, too. Don't worry. I haven't forgotten that I have another case. As the old saying goes, one down, one to go."  
Hutch drove back to the station and headed for the interrogation rooms. Dobey was waiting for him.  
"Babcock just took the box down to the lab. We're pulling in every tech we've got. The FBI's even sending over an agent, with the files they have on the missing kids. And Charlie's still working on the correlation between Garvey and any open MP cases that we have. God knows how many children he's killed."  
"He said that he'd been at Surf's Up for five years and before that at the park's department. I didn't take a close look in that box, but I'd bet he's murdered more than the four possible cases we've found."  
Dobey looked at Starsky, but the brunet simply shrugged. "All I know is he's been doing it for a long time, longer than five years anyway. If you don't mind, I'd really rather not crawl into his head again. I'm tired and if I try that right now, I may not get back out."  
Dobey looked chagrined. "I wouldn't ask you to jeopardize your mental health, Mr. Starsky. You've done more than enough. We'll finish the investigation the old-fashioned way. I appreciate the help. If I didn't say so before now, I apologize."  
Starsky smiled wearily. "That's OK. I know you've had a few things on your mind. Give me a couple of days to rest up then if you need me again, I'll do what I can."  
Hutch looked in the direction of the interrogation room. "In the meantime, I have an appointment with Garvey and his attorney. If there's nothing else, Harold, I'll let you know when I'm finished."  
"OK and I'll let you know as soon as we come up with anything on the box."  
As Hutch started toward the first interrogation room, Starsky started to follow him, but the blond stopped him with a raised hand.  
"Hold it, where do you think you're going?"  
"I'm going with you, of course."  
Hutch shook his head. "Oh, no you're not. I got away with sneaking you by the other detectives at the house, but you can't be in there when I question Garvey. His attorney will have a conniption fit if I drag a civilian into an official interrogation."  
"Now wait a minute! You can't expect me to come this far and then drop out of the whole thing. I can't just put my feelings on hold like that. Besides, you might need me. I can tell when he's lying. What if he wiggles out of this?"  
"He's not going to wiggle out of anything. I know for a fact that Melanie's barrettes are in that box, and before morning, we'll know what else is there. And as for him lying, I've been a cop for a long time. I think I can tell when a suspect is lying to me."  
Starsky opened his mouth to object, but Hutch overruled him. "Look, I know it's not fair, but that's the way it is." He pointed to the room next door. "You can go in there. It's got a two way mirror, and an intercom. You'll be able to see and hear everything that goes on. I'm sorry, that's the best I can do."  
Starsky turned the door knob and went into the small room. As he waited for Hutch to join Garvey and his attorney, he mumbled to himself.  
"Terrific. I love being used and abused. All that's missing from this screwing is the kiss."  
He sat down in the chair by the window and watched as Hutch entered the room. Myron Kruger looked more nervous than his client did when the detective sat down across the table from him. He coughed then wiped his face with a handkerchief.  
"Um, Lieutenant, exactly what are the charges against my client?"  
Hutch glared at the man sitting next to Kruger. "At the moment, he's charged with the kidnapping and murder of Melanie Rivers. Our lab is examining the contents of the box we found in his closet, so I'm sure other charges will be added soon."  
Hutch put both hands on the table and leaned forward. "You're a murderer and a pedophile, Mr. Garvey. At the moment, most of our evidence is circumstantial, but I assure you, that will change once the forensic reports are in. You stalk these kids and prey on their innocence. You lure them away from their homes and torture them then you strangle them and throw their bodies away like so much refuse. I am going to take you off the streets and put you in prison for the rest of your unnatural life. Bet on it!"  
Garvey sneered at him with false bravado. "You can't prove anything, pig!"  
"Oh, can't I? You had Melanie's barrettes in your possession when we arrested you. She was buried on your property. You live just two houses down from her. You say you weren't home at the time of her disappearance, but you can't substantiate your alibi. I think when we turn this over to the district attorney; he'll say that we have a pretty tight case."  
Hutch leaned back and took a pen out of his pocket. As he drummed it on the table, he stared at the suspect.   
"You're not saying anything, Mr. Garvey. Is that because you're remembering what else is in that box? How many other kids have you killed? How many other bodies will we find buried around that cabin? Oh, did I forget to mention that at this very moment, three teams of investigators are going over every square inch of that property? Those teams consist of officers and cadaver dogs, trained in the recovery of bodies. Tomorrow, detectives all over this city will talk to the parents of the other missing kids. I'm sure they'll tell us how friendly you were when you cleaned their neighbors' pools. They'll tell us how much the kids all loved you. Maybe they even called you Uncle Al. You insinuated yourself into those parent's lives and took away their kids. I'm sure they'll do all they can to get you off the streets."  
Garvey looked down at his hands as the silence thickened in the room. Suddenly, he threw his head back and laughed out loud.  
"Oh, what a tragic picture you paint, Lieutenant! I can see all of those poor, heartbroken parents wringing their hands and crying over the loss of their precious children. How will they manage to go on?"  
He leered at Hutch with a look of pure madness in his eyes. "It's all a sham, Lieutenant! Those kids were nothing but status symbols to their parents. They were possessions, like the houses they lived in and the cars in their garage. Its part of the American dream, don't you see? Every couple must have a three bedroom home with a two car garage and two or three kids. There's no room in our society for less."  
He lowered his voice as his thoughts turned inward. "Besides, if they don't have any kids, who will take care of them when they get older? God knows, the health care for seniors in this country is sadly lacking. No respectable pillar of the community wants to end up in a state run nursing home. That would simply be too degrading. Heaven forbid! What would the neighbors say? So, these loving parents give their children everything and then extract their pound of flesh when their own is too feeble to function. It's the way of the world, Lieutenant."  
Kruger's face was pale as he put his hand on Garvey's knee. "Maybe you shouldn't say anything else, Alvin. We haven't had the chance to discuss your defense yet."  
Garvey laughed again. "Don't worry, Myron. Lieutenant Hutchinson understands, don't you, Lieutenant?"  
Hutch nodded slowly, trying to hide his revulsion. "Of course, I understand, Mr. Garvey. You were the product of society, too, weren't you? Your parents paraded you around like some kind of trophy. They wanted to be respectable so they had to have a child. Did they want another one or did they stop with you? It doesn't matter, does it? They kept you trapped in that house and never gave you the chance to have a life of your own. But they weren't as prosperous as the other parents, were they? You didn't have the fancy house and the brand new car. Your father wasn't a doctor or a lawyer, was he? He wasn't a politician or an actor. He worked for the park's department, just like you did. He was a simple groundskeeper, just like you. When he died, he left you to take care of your mother and the noose got tighter. Any hope that you had of getting married and having a family of your own was gone. When your mother died, you were left with nothing but the house and that cabin."  
Garvey nodded energetically. "Yes, you do understand! My whole life was planned by my father. He demanded that I follow in his footsteps. Whenever I mentioned moving out, he wouldn't hear of it. There was no need, he said. The house was good enough for them, so it should be good enough for me. The only joy I ever knew came from my job, and for that, I'm grateful to him. But, in the end, he took that away from me, too. When he died, and my mother's condition got worse, I had no choice! I had to quit, and I endured twelve months of confinement before she died, too. After the funeral, I tried to get my old job back, but there were no openings. They put me on a waiting list, can you believe that? My father worked for them for thirty years and I gave them five years of my own life, and it meant nothing to them. All I had left was an empty house and that run down cabin in the woods."  
Hutch leaned closer. "Did you hate those kids, Mr. Garvey? Were you jealous of them?"  
Garvey shook his head emphatically. "No, I didn't hate them! I loved them. I stopped them from suffering the way that I did."  
Hutch pointed a finger at him. "You're lying! You hated your father for taking away your life and you were jealous of those kids because they had everything you never had. You took them away from their parents because you couldn't stand the thought of them being happy. You killed them because you knew how much it would hurt their parents and you wanted everyone to be as miserable as you were. Love? You don't know what love is, Mr. Garvey."  
Hutch stood up and walked away from the table. He turned his back on Garvey and struggled to quell the nausea in his stomach. He barely heard Kruger's question.  
"I think we have enough, don't you? It's obvious that my client suffers from diminished capacity."  
Hutch turned around, his jaw clenched. "That's for the psychiatrists to determine, Mr. Kruger. But you can bet your ass that I'll do everything I can to convince a jury that he was completely sane when he took those kids. I hope you can pull a rabbit out of a hat, counselor, because that's what it will take to get your client off the hook. Good day, Gentlemen."  
After casting a final glare at Garvey, Hutch stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. He leaned against it and willed his breathing to return to normal. When the anger subsided, he opened the door to the room where Starsky waited and went in.   
The young psychic was pale and sat in the chair with his head down. He looked up at the sound of the door closing. He exhaled slowly and rubbed his face with his hands.  
"Well, that was fun. What's going to happen now?"  
Hutch shook his head slightly. "I'm not going to do anything else until our department psychiatrist talks to Garvey. I want to stop this so-called insanity defense in its tracks. Garvey didn't exactly confess, but we have a stronger case because of what he said. And since he was Mirandized when he was arrested and his attorney was present during questioning, everything he said was admissible. After the psychiatrist certifies him competent to stand trial, I'll have another go at him if I think it's necessary. It might not be, once the lab analyzes the contents of that box."  
He ran long fingers through his hair then sighed. "Right now, I think we both could use a break. Why don't you go home and get some sleep? There's another killer out there, and we need to focus on him now. We'll let the courts take care of Garvey."  
Starsky smiled wearily. "I'm all for that. How do you do it, Hutch? How can you just shift your priorities from one maniac to another? I don't know if I could do that."  
"It comes with the job, Starsky. There's too many nuts and not enough cops to handle all of the cases. I've juggled three or four at a time. You have to keep plugging along. Crime doesn't take a holiday, or a day off. Now, let's get out of here. I'm sick of this place and I can imagine you are, too."  
"Amen to that. Let's go."  
David Starsky knew he was dreaming this time. The scenes that unfolded were choppy and disjointed. One minute, he was parking the Torino in his usual spot at O'Neil's then the next minute he was walking through the lobby. Everything looked normal, except for one major difference. Every person that he saw was dead. His co-workers were sitting in chairs, leaning against the wall, or propped up in corners, but now their body's were covered in blood. On each of their foreheads, the legend was stamped: Rejected. As he stumbled through the carnage, he gasped an apology under his breath.   
"I'm sorry! Oh, God, I should have done something! How can everyone be dead?"  
The scene shifted again and he was in his office. The phantom in black stood with his back to Starsky, his coat covered in gore. He grasped the knife loosely in his hands, and the blade pointed to the floor, dripping blood on the carpet. Involuntarily, Starsky gasped and the murderer turned around. The fedora still covered his face but the voice was the same as in his visions.  
"You're late, Davy. You missed all the fun."  
Starsky's reply was filled with pain. "Oh, my God, you killed them all! Why? What did they do to you that were so wrong?"  
"They laughed at me! They all hated me. I just wanted to be their friend, but I wasn't good enough for them. Well, I showed them! I did what I wanted and there was no one here to stop me. YOU weren't here to stop me, Davy! Their blood is on your hands. It's your fault!"  
As the phantom raised the knife and rushed toward Starsky, he repeated the litany.  
"It's your fault!"  
Starsky sat up in the dark room and wiped the sweat from his face with one hand. Clad only in a pair of briefs, he stumbled into the kitchen and took a cold bottle of water from the refrigerator. He walked over to the window and stared outside, holding the cool bottle to his face as he waited for his heart to stop pounding in his chest. Finally, his breathing slowed as the ravages of the dream diminished in his mind.  
He's right. If anyone else dies, it will be my fault. I started the whole thing with Garvey. I was only trying to convince them that I was for real! I didn't know it would drag on for so long. I'm glad they caught Garvey, but what about my friends? I don't want anyone else to die! I got into Garvey's head. Why can't I get into this guy's? Who is he?   
Starsky shook his head. He knew that they had to stop Garvey before he killed again. There was one bit of information that he'd left out when he talked to Hutch and Dobey. Garvey had already picked out his next victim. The psychic knew with certainty that if Garvey had remained on the streets much longer, another child would disappear, and another body would be interred in the woods.  
I did the right thing! I couldn't simply sit by and let him kill another innocent kid. But, we wasted precious time. The phantom could be going after his next victim right now! Does he have a list? Is he checking them off as he kills them?   
A final thought rose unbidden in his mind. Am I next? Damn it, why can't I see him?  
He drank the last of his water and got back in bed. If he didn't get some sleep, he'd look like death warmed over when he went back to work the next day. Starsky grimaced at the pun. Walking into the office was going to be hard enough after his dream. He was seeing bodies everywhere. The last thing he wanted, or needed, was people asking him where he'd been. Tom's death had to be common knowledge by now. If he was going to face the gauntlet of their questions, he had to be rested. With grim determination, the brunet forced his thoughts away from death and imagined sitting on a quiet beach, watching the waves come in. As the tranquil scene played out in his mind, his breathing slowed and he fell into a deep sleep.  
The next morning, Starsky parked his car and walked slowly into the building. The nightmare he'd had last night came back with a vengeance as he entered the lobby. He was so relieved to see Peggy alive and well that he favored her with one of his brightest smiles. He braced himself as he anticipated her first words. He wasn't disappointed.  
"Oh, David, did you hear? Tom Rowan was murdered the other night! The police won't admit that it was the same person that killed Jeannie, but who else could it be?"  
Starsky feigned shock as he gathered his thoughts. "No, I didn't hear! I was called out of town on a personal emergency and just got back last night. I haven't seen the paper this morning. That's terrible! Are the police doing anything about it?"  
"There were a couple of detectives here yesterday, asking questions, but that's all. That good looking Lieutenant wasn't with them, so maybe they couldn't tell us anything. It's horrible, though. We're all so frightened! First, it was Jeannie and now Tom. You have to wonder who'll be next."  
"I'm sure the police are doing all they can, Peggy. Don't put yourself in that kind of state. I think we should all be more cautious, but you can't just stay in bed and pull the covers over your head. We all have a job to do, and Jeannie and Tom would want us to go on with our lives."  
She nodded reluctantly. "I know, but you have to admit it's scary. It seems as if someone is killing us one by one. Why would any one do that?"  
"I don't know, Peggy. I wish I could say something that would help. If it will make you feel better, why don't you go stay with your sister for a while? She just lives a couple of blocks away, right? Jeannie lived alone and I'm pretty sure Tom did, too. There's safety in numbers, as the old saying goes."  
She nodded in agreement. "I slept there last night. As soon as I told Mandy what happened, she insisted that I get out of my apartment immediately. Her husband travels a lot, so it works out for both of us. Mandy doesn't work here, but the streets aren't really safe for a woman alone, at all."  
"I know, but that's part of living in a big city. You can't let fear paralyze you. Give the police some time. They'll catch whoever's doing this and we can all go back to our normal lives."  
"I hope you're right, David. I've known most of these people for years. I don't want to see any more of my friends die."  
Starsky nodded fervently. "You can say that again, Peggy. Let's hope they catch this nut soon."  
He left the lobby and took the elevator up to his office. As he passed the other employees, he listened for the voice he'd heard in his visions. Who is it? Which one of you is the killer? I wish to God I knew.  
He escaped into his office and shut the door, blocking out the conversations of his co-workers. Pushing all thoughts of the murders out of his mind, he tried to concentrate on the stack of paperwork on his desk. Starsky grew more and more frustrated as his mind drifted back to the events of the last two days. The images of bodies covered in blood and killers that wore black hats kept intruding into his thoughts. Damn it, catching homicidal maniacs wasn't his job, this was! He had worked too long and too hard to let his professionalism slip away now. Finally, with a curse, he gave up. It was nearly lunchtime, so he walked down to the cafeteria and ordered a sandwich and coffee. He didn't want to hear the gossip about Jeannie and Tom, so he brought his lunch back to his office. He swung his chair around and gazed out the window as he ate, trying to block out his preoccupation with death. When the last crumb was gone and his coffee cup empty, Starsky turned around and tried to go back to work. As he started to review the campaign for Danny's Sports Den, there was a knock on his door.  
He sighed to himself and sat back in his chair. "Come in!"  
Hutch peeked around the door. "Am I interrupting anything? Of course I am. You're working. Do you have a few minutes to spare?"  
Starsky closed the file he was working on and sat back. "Sure, have a seat. What's up?"  
Hutch sat down in the overstuffed chair and held up a stack of papers. "I finally stopped by your personnel office and got a list of employees. I only made copies of the male employees since you said it was definitely not a woman. I thought we might go over them and see if anyone sounds like a good candidate."  
"I don't know how much help I'll be, but I'll try. When do you want to do it?"  
"I know that you're busy and I've already taken up enough of your time, so how about dinner at Huggy's and we'll go over the files then?"  
"Sure. I should be finished around five or five thirty, so I can meet you there around six."  
Hutch smiled. "Sounds good to me. I'll take these to R &amp; I and see if any of these men have rap sheets. I don't think it will be that easy, but it's SOP. So, how's it going? Are they saying much about Tom Rowan?"  
"No, not really. They're really getting spooked, though. There's no way they can miss the connection and some of the single women have gone to stay with friends or family. I hope we can catch this nut before everyone in the company freaks out. Speaking of freaks, what happened with Garvey?"  
Hutch smiled at the pun then sobered. "Our crime lab thinks there are twenty separate victims. We've already cleared the four cases we know about. It was rough, but we showed the parents of the missing kids the contents of that box, and they identified personal items from each kid. The guys from the lab are back in his house now, looking for any other evidence linking him to the murders. I think it's safe to say that Garvey will be locked up for the rest of his life."  
"What about that insanity plea his lawyer was talking about?"  
Hutch rubbed his face. "There's a difference between being psychotic and being insane. The district attorney doesn't think there will be a problem proving Garvey fit to stand trial. Don't worry; he won't get off that easy. St. Peter himself couldn't get that nut off."  
"That's good to know. I just wish we could find this nut and get him off the street, too."  
"We will, but old fashioned police work takes time. You plod along the best you can and hope something pops up. It's not glamorous, but we usually get our man."  
Starsky sat back, his eyes haunted. "I know, but we don't know how much time we have. He could be sharpening his knife and picking out his next target. I don't want to see another person slashed to ribbons."  
Hutch nodded. "You must be going through Hell right now. We're doing everything possible to keep your company safe. Our public relations department is going to release a statement to O'Neil's this afternoon. We're wording it carefully, but we want everybody to know the danger they're in. "  
Starsky jumped up and paced around the room. "But you can't tell them why, can you? Two people have died and all we know is this nut thinks he's been rejected. He goes around asking people to have a cup of coffee with them and when they say no, he goes ape shit. That's NOT a reason to kill somebody!"  
Hutch got up and went to stand in front of the psychic. "It is to him. This goes deeper than just getting a simple no. He feels like he's being snubbed. He's already walking on the edge, personality wise, and every time someone turns him down it enforces his feeling of inferiority. Look, I'm not a psychiatrist, but I've dealt with these types before. The reason they kill exists mostly in their own mind. On the outside, this guy will probably look normal. He'll do his job, seem very shy, and be very willing to help. As long as he's appreciated, everything is fine. When he feels like he's being slighted, he snaps."  
Starsky smiled slightly. "For someone who isn't a psychiatrist, you're doing pretty well. I only have one question. If this guy is just a normal Joe, how are we supposed to find out who he is?"  
Hutch held both hands up. "If we had the time, we'd go through every personnel file in this company. We'd do complete back ground checks on every employee, going back as far as necessary. We'd hope that we'd find evidence of his unstable personality, maybe through a rap sheet, or through psychiatric records. It's doubtful that this is his first brush with the law, but it's possible. But, we don't have that much time. So, I'm hoping you can help speed up the process. We'll go through these files tonight and see if any one sticks out."  
Starsky sighed. "I hope someone does. The thought that I could be rubbing elbows with a serial killer gives me the willies. When I came to work today, I caught myself listening to everyone around me, to see if I would hear that voice. I can't believe someone that I have worked with closely could be this crazy, and I've never picked up on it."  
Hutch shook his head. "My gut instinct tells me that this nut isn't someone you work closely with. These psychos are usually under achievers. Their neuroses cripple them. It keeps them from being successful. They have problems with authority and don't get along well with their peers. And there's something else that you have to consider. The reason you don't recognize his voice may be because you don't hear it often. It could be someone you only interact with occasionally."  
Starsky let out an exasperated snort. "That's just terrific! You keep telling me that you can't parade every man in this company in front of me and make them say something, but it sounds like that's what it will take."  
Hutch smiled at the image. "Well, maybe we can do that as a last resort. Don't sell yourself short. I think, between the two of us, we can whittle the list down a lot."  
Starsky grimaced. "I wish I had your confidence, Hutch. I don't know if I can tell who it is by just looking at his file. I picked up on Garvey from Melanie's picture, but that's different. I can feel negative emotions easily when something is going on, but I don't know if I can do that by just reading about somebody."  
Hutch shook his head. "I'm not expecting you to do the whole thing by yourself. We'll go through the files and see what's there. Then we'll get the background checks of anyone that looks promising. I know that seems like the hard way to do it, but I'm fresh out of ideas right now. This guy has me stumped."  
Starsky sighed. "Yeah, I know what you mean. The whole thing scares me to death. I had a nightmare that while I was helping you catch Garvey; the phantom went to O'Neil's and killed everyone in the building. We're running out of time. I can feel it."  
"Yeah, I can feel it, too. We'll get him, Starsky. I promise you. But, in the mean time, we have to keep everyone in the building as safe as we can. Now, get back to work and I'll see you tonight."  
"I'll be there. And if you come up with anything before then, call me. I won't be able to concentrate until this maniac is behind bars."  
Hutch saluted with the roll of papers in his hand. "I'll do that. And try not to worry too much. We both still have a job to do."  
Starsky sat back as Hutch closed the door behind him. I hope to God that you do your job before this nut does his.  
Starsky finished working on the sport's account and left his office at five-thirty as planned. He stopped by his apartment and changed clothes then went to Huggy's. Hutch was already there, seated at a booth in the back. As soon as he sat down, Huggy brought him a beer and a Huggy's Special.  
"Blondie told me you'd been working all day, so I thought you could use some sustenance. How goes the world of advertising?"  
Starsky grinned at him. "It's not glamorous, but it pays the bills. You should think about putting some ads out for this place, Huggy. It could double your business."  
Huggy threw his head back and guffawed. "No offense, bro', but I don't think the patrons that frequent this establishment read The Wall Street Journal."  
Starsky winked. "I don't know, Hug. Judging by the copies I've seen decorating the alleys around here, someone likes it."  
"You got a point, Starsk. Uh oh, I see Diane waving to me. I think that's my cue to get back to work. If you two yahoo's need me, just give me a sign."  
Starsky finished his meal then cleared the table so Hutch could spread the files out between them. One by one, they went over the male employees in the agency. By the time they'd gone over half the files, Starsky was getting very frustrated.  
"I told you this wouldn't help! None of those men are familiar to me. How am I supposed to know if they're the killer if I don't recognize their names?"  
"We just got started, Starsky. If nothing rings a bell about these people, we'll wait for their back ground checks. I don't want you to feel like it's all on your shoulders. I've got the entire department working on it."  
Starsky huffed. "Sure, and while we're plodding along, this creep goes after someone else I know. Damn it! I centered in on Garvey! Why can't I see this guy?"  
Hutch sat back and regarded the other man. "I have the feeling it's because you're too close to this. What happened to Melanie was horrible, but you weren't involved in it. It didn't affect you personally. You'll see this guy eventually."  
The brunet snorted. "When? When he's coming after me with his knife? I'd like a little more warning than that."  
"I know you're feeling frustrated right now, but don't give up on me. Look, it's late and you've had a hard couple of days. Why don't we knock off for the night? In the morning, I'll see what R&amp;I come up with and we'll go from there."  
Starsky threw his napkin down on the table. "Yeah, maybe they'll have more luck than I had. This isn't getting us anywhere, any way. I think I'll go home and drink myself into oblivion. Let me know if you get anything useful."  
Hutch watched him walk out the door. I take it back. I don't think I want to be psychic if it makes you that miserable. Keep the faith, buddy. We'll get this nut sooner or later.  
Starsky went home and took a hot shower, changing into his oldest and most comfortable pair of sweats. He fixed himself a strong drink, but it didn't help his jangling nerves. After a while, he gave up and went to bed. He'd only been asleep for a couple of hours when the familiar voices intruded on his subconscious.  
Sabrina Abernathy stood in her living room and gaped in horror at the man in black.  
"Who are you? What do you want? Please don't hurt me!"  
As soon as the feeling of horror pervaded his subconscious, Starsky jumped out of bed and ran for the phone.   
"Ninth precinct, Sergeant Jones speaking. How may I help you?"  
Starsky fought to speak calmly. "This is David Starsky. I need to get in touch with Lieutenant Hutchinson immediately. It's an emergency."  
"He's gone home for the night. May I take a message?"  
"No, you may NOT take a message! I told you, this is an emergency! Can't you give me his home phone number?"  
"I'm sorry, Mr. Starsky. We can't give out that information to the public, for security reasons."  
Starsky ran his fingers through his curls and tried to speak rationally. "Then can you have him call me at home? It's urgent that I speak with him."  
He could hear the Sergeant sigh. "OK, give me your number and I'll call him right away."  
Starsky dropped the receiver back in its cradle, cursing fluently. He paced around his apartment, agitated. Come on, damn it! Call me!  
Miraculously, the phone rang just a few minutes later. He snatched it up and started talking immediately.  
"Hutch, you gotta get over there! He's at it again! He's going to kill her!"  
"Damn it, Starsky, calm down! Now, take a deep breath and tell me what's going on."  
Starsky forced himself to speak slowly. "I can feel her. She's terrified. He's there and he's going to kill her."  
"Do you know who it is?"  
"It's Sabrina Abernathy. She handles the jewelry accounts."  
"Do you know where she lives? I don't have the information on the female employees, remember."  
"Um, she lives on the beach, in half of an old duplex. The other half caught fire a few years ago, and she bought it and tore it down. So, she's pretty isolated. Damn it, I don't know the exact address. Hold on, let me look." He snatched the phone book from its place on the shelf and frantically turned the pages. Come on; come on; where is it? "OK, here it is. It's 1432 Venice Beach road."  
"I'm not far from there. Thank God for that, anyway. Here's what I want you to do: you call Dobey and tell him what you told me. His number is 555-6772. Then you sit tight and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."  
"No, way, man! I want to be there if you catch this guy."  
"Starsky, you can't. To say that this guy is armed and dangerous would be putting it mildly. There's no way in Hell that I'll let you put yourself in that much danger. Sit tight! I'll call as soon as I can."  
Starsky groaned as the line went dead. "Oh, God, hurry up, Hutch!"  
He thumbed the hook to break the connection then dialed Dobey's number. Breathlessly, he repeated what he'd told Hutch. Dobey replied with a brusque "Got it." He ran his fingers through his hair as the line went dead again then flopped into the recliner. Taking deep breaths, he concentrated on the terrifying scene in his mind.  
The phantom cackled. "What's the matter, Sabrina? Where's your precious entourage now? You're all alone, aren't you?"  
"I don't understand. What do you mean?"  
"I mean, where are your friends, the members of your clique? You all think you're so special! You won't let anyone else in."  
"It's not like that. I have lots of friends. Who are you? Why would you want to hurt me?"  
The phantom took off his hat. "There! Do you recognize me now? I wanted to be your friend, too. But you wouldn't even have a lousy cup of coffee with me! You were too busy with the other snobs. You told me to go away, that you were too busy. You laughed at me!"  
She held her hand up in front of her mouth. "I didn't mean anything by it! I thought you were just joking around. Look, I'll make you a cup of coffee right now. We can talk all you want."  
He hissed at her. "It's too late! You thought you were so much better than me. All I wanted was to fit in, but you laughed at me!"  
Hutch slammed the receiver back on its hook and hastily pulled on a pair of pants and shirt, slipping on his shoes without bothering to put on socks. He put his shoulder holster back on and grabbed his jacket on his way out the door. The detective breathed a sigh of relief as he sped toward the address Starsky had given him. Thankfully, Sabrina Abernathy's home was only a few miles from his apartment. Traffic was sparse and he chanted to himself as he took corners on two wheels.   
"Let me make it in time. Dear God, let me make it in time."  
She ran for her bedroom as he lunged toward her, but he caught her before she could close the door and lock it. As she fell against the bed, he screamed at her.  
"You'll be sorry that you laughed at me! By the time I'm through with you, your precious friends won't want you anywhere near them. You'll be an outcast, just like me. In a little while, they won't even remember your name. Just like me!"  
He raised his knife and charged at her. As the knife rose and fell, he chanted over and over again.  
"You laughed at me! You laughed at me! You laughed at me!"  
Later, as she lay on the floor beside her bed, his tears mixed with her blood.  
"Why did you laugh at me?"  
Dipping his gloved fingers in her blood, he wrote the message on the wall: Rejected.  
Starsky sat up with a groan. "NOOO!"   
Defying Hutch's orders, he dressed quickly then grabbed his keys and ran out the door. He knew it was already too late for Sabrina, but he was determined that he would get to the scene as soon as possible. If he got there right after the phantom left, maybe he could pick up something from the carnage.  
Hutch turned off the siren as he sped up the small driveway to Sabrina's condo. Everything seemed peaceful as he ran up to the front door. He took out his gun and stood to one side before he knocked.  
"Miss Abernathy? This is the police. Sabrina? Are you in there?"  
He waited, listening for any sounds emanating from the house. The only noise he heard were insects and waves gently hitting the beach a few yards away. Cautiously, he walked around the duplex to the back. The only light came from the moon and a lone security light. He stiffened when he saw the door was slightly ajar. There was light coming from what he assumed was the living room, casting a faint glow in the kitchen. Slowly, he made his way through the house. Quietly, he called out again.  
"Sabrina? I'm Lieutenant Ken Hutchinson, with the Bay City P. D. Can you hear me?"  
Rational thought warred with his desire to find the young woman. Hutch knew he should wait for back up, but worried that the phantom had already made his move. If Sabrina were hurt, it was imperative that he act quickly. Exhaling slowly to compose himself, he went farther into the house. Fortunately, there was enough light to navigate the rooms since he'd neglected to bring a flashlight. When he went into the front room, he could tell that there had been a struggle. Cursing softly, he crept toward the other end of the condo.   
"Sabrina?"  
The door on his right was closed, so he gripped the door knob and turned it gently. It turned easily, so he pushed the door open and stood against the wall. There was enough light from the living room for him to see the boxes and furniture that littered the interior. Plainly, Sabrina used this room for storage. Leaving the door ajar, he turned his attention to room he assumed was Sabrina's bedroom. From his vantage point, he could see the door was already open. He flattened himself against the wall and tried to look in the room.   
He could see her bed, and part of her dresser, but that was all. He focused his hearing on the room, listening for any sounds of movement. The house was so quiet that he could hear himself breathing. Slowly, he inched into the room. He was only a few feet inside when he saw a foot sticking out from beside the bed. He covered the distance in two strides, bringing Sabrina's body into view.   
"Damn it!"   
Still holding his weapon, he kneeled down beside the body. It was obvious that she was dead, but he put a finger on her carotid artery, anyway. Suddenly, he heard a noise behind him, and turned his head in time to see a large object coming toward him.   
Starsky squealed around another corner and tromped on the gas pedal as he raced toward Venice Beach road. A sudden flash exploded in his head, nearly causing him to lose control of the Torino. He hit the brakes instinctively and slammed the gear shift into Park as waves of nausea and pain washed over him. The psychic grunted and clutched his head, panting as he tried to control the assault to his senses. His eyes widened as realization struck.  
"Oh, no! Huuuuuutch!"  
Sparing only the briefest glance over his shoulder, he put the car in gear and rushed toward the duplex. When he got to the narrow road that led to Sabrina's home, he slowed as the flashing lights of several squad cars came into view. He stopped the car and jumped out, running toward the entrance. Two uniformed policemen stopped him before he could enter.  
"Hey, hold on a minute! You can't go in there."  
He pushed against their arms. "You don't understand! I have to get in there! Let me go!"  
He was still struggling with them when he heard a gruff voice from inside the room.  
"It's OK, let him through."  
Starsky pushed his way between them and ran into the living room. Hutch was sitting on the couch, a bloody towel held to his head. Starsky knelt down in front of him.  
"Are you OK? I felt him hit you."  
Hutch nodded slightly, wincing at the pain the movement caused. "Yeah, I'm all right." He looked up at the psychic. "Damn it, I was too late, Starsky! He must have been hiding behind the door. I was checking Sabrina for a pulse when he came from behind and knocked me in the head."  
Starsky lowered his head as he remembered his vision. "I know. I saw what happened."  
Slowly, he got up and walked toward the bedroom door. Dobey stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.  
"You can't go in there. It's a crime scene now. And trust me, you don't want to."  
Starsky met his eyes. "I don't have a choice. If I can see the room, I might pick up something from him." He slammed his fist in his hand. "Damn it, don't you see? We're out of time! We've been chasing this bastard long enough. He stays one step ahead of his and he's knocking off these people like flies. All your files and your computers aren't going to do you any good! There's only one person that can find him and you're looking at him."  
Hutch forced himself off the sofa and stood behind the psychic.  
"He's right, Harold. He's killed three people now and he's not going to stop until we find him. Let him in."  
Dobey started to protest then relented. He pointed a finger at Starsky.  
"OK, you can go in, but don't touch anything!"   
Starsky nodded briefly then walked into the bedroom. His breath hitched painfully when he saw the still form beneath the sheet. He closed his eyes. I'm sorry, Sabrina Oh, God, I'm so sorry!  
He said a silent farewell then turned his attention to the room. Surprisingly, most of the furniture was untouched by the vicious attack. Only the bed and the floor surrounding it were splattered with blood. His eyes covered the room slowly then focused on the message on the wall. Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes and concentrated.  
"It's the same old song. He's furious because he thinks she snubbed him. He only wants to belong. Sabrina was talking to some of the other girls in her department when he walked up to her. He tried to join the conversation, but they just looked at him with blank stares. He was kidding around with them, trying to break the ice. When he asked them out for a cup of coffee, they all laughed at him. I can feel his embarrassment. He stammers a good-bye and turns to leave, but he knocks some stuff off her desk, making things worse. He starts to bend down to pick it up, but she waves him away. He's convinced they think he's a moron now. When he goes home, he's still smarting about what happened. The more he thinks about it, the angrier he gets. Finally, he snaps, losing control, and he comes after her."  
Starsky shook himself and gazed at Hutch. "There's another problem. He knows you're onto him now and he's furious about it. He thinks you should go after them, not him. He doesn't think he's doing anything wrong. They're the enemy, and now you are, too."  
Hutch rolled his eyes. "That's just wonderful." Then he asked the only question on his mind. "Can you see his face? Can you tell who it is?"  
"I could see him for a second, when he sneaked up behind you. But the light was wrong. I get the impression that he's young, close to my age or younger. There's something different about his face, something on it. Maybe they're scars, like acne scars from when he was a teenager. I'm not sure. I can't see him good enough to tell."  
Dobey stared at the message scrawled on the wall as if it held the answers. He snapped his fingers reflexively as he thought.   
"OK, we know a little more than we did now. You said there were other people with the victim when he approached her. Maybe they'll remember the incident and can tell us who this psycho is."  
Hutch pointed his finger at his friend. "Maybe they will at that. And we know that he's young, and has some kind of distinguishing marks on his face. We're getting closer to this son of a bitch. I can feel it."  
Dobey nodded agreement. "It's late, and I don't want to spook anybody, so we'll go to O'Neil's first thing in the morning. In the meantime, I want both of you to go home and get some rest. But first, I want you to go to the ER and get checked out, Hutch."  
"Oh, no. I'm fine, Harold. I don't want to spend the rest of the night in the ER, and besides, we don't have the time to waste. A couple of aspirin and a few hours' sleep will take care of this headache."  
"Look, Hutch. He hit you pretty hard. You could have a concussion."  
"I think my head's a little harder than that. I'll make a deal with you. I'll grab some sleep and if I start feeling weird, I'll go have the doc check me out."  
Dobey growled. "Well, I won't argue about how hard-headed you are. All right, but if you start feeling any worse, you'd damn well better high tail it to the hospital. And I don't want you going back to your apartment tonight. I want you with somebody in case you start seeing double or something. Why don't you come home with me? You can sleep in the den."  
"Harold, do you know what time it is? Edith will have both our hides if we wake Cal and Rosie up. I'll be OK. I'll have Charlie call every couple of hours and check on me. If I don't answer the phone, he can send an ambulance."  
Starsky stepped in before Dobey could answer. "You can come home with me. I have a couch that makes into a bed. It's not the most comfortable thing in the world, but you won't be alone. And we can get an early start if we're together."  
Dobey and Hutch exchanged looks then Dobey nodded. "OK, but I don't want you sitting up the rest of the night, talking. You both need some sleep. I don't know which one of you looks worse."  
Starsky looked at the blond and winked. "Is he always this supportive?"  
Hutch snorted. "Are you kidding? He's on his best behavior because you're a civilian."  
Dobey glared unconvincingly at the two men. "Very funny. Go on; get out of here before I put you both in a cell so I can keep an eye on you."  
Starsky put out a hand to steady Hutch as he turned toward the door. "We're already gone."  
Half an hour later, Hutch was lying comfortably on Starsky's sofa, a clean sheet and spread covering him. Starsky was sitting in the recliner and both men were drinking tea. The brunet had decided against alcohol, considering the blond's head injury. He regarded the detective with speculation.  
"Do you really think I need to wake you up every couple of hours?"  
Hutch glowered at him then finished his tea and handed him the cup. "No, I don't think that will be necessary. I've bumped my head harder than this on the roof of my car. I'm fine, Starsk. I think we should follow Dobey's orders and get some sleep."  
Starsky took both cups to the kitchen and sat them in the sink. He yawned and stretched in agreement. "OK, I'm not sure I can sleep, but I'll give it a try. If you need anything, just give a yell. And if you start feeling strange, wake me up, got it?"  
Hutch sighed as he laid his head on the pillow. "I got it. 'Night, Starsk."  
Starsky slept fitfully for while, tossing and turning as he tried to block out the night's events. He sat up a little, fluffing his pillow in an attempt to get comfortable. The couch was facing away from him, but he could see the covers rise and fall as Hutch moved restlessly. He could sense the thoughts of the other man as he relaxed his guard.   
"Hutch, you awake?"  
"Yeah."  
"You OK? Your head's not worse is it?"  
"Nah, it's all right. I guess I just can't get this guy out of my mind."  
Starsky lay on his back and threw an arm over his face. "Yeah, I know what you mean." He was quiet for a moment. "Hey, Hutch, how come you're not married?"  
"Oh, I don't know. The job, I guess. There aren't many women that would put up with my crazy hours."  
"Yeah, I guess you're right. Who's Vanessa?"  
The blond sat up and looked over the back of the couch. "I'm not sure I like being this close to a guy that can get inside my head."  
"Sorry. So, who is she?"  
Hutch lay back down. "She was my ex-wife. We got married too young, I guess. The marriage didn't last long. She was killed a couple of years ago, with my gun of all things. I damn near got fried for that one."  
"I can imagine. You'll have to tell me the whole story when this is over. You never found anyone else?"  
"No, no one that I wanted to get serious about anyway."  
He sat up and looked at the brunet. "Hey, Starsk, when did you realize you were psychic?"  
Starsky got out of bed and went to sit beside the blond. "Oh, I don't know. I always remember knowing things. You know, like when my mom was going to cook my favorite meal. I knew when my parents were planning on taking us somewhere special, and when to ask for a little more on my allowance. I always knew what I was getting for Christmas, but I learned real fast not to let on, even when I didn't get everything I wanted. But it never occurred to me that I was different. I thought I was just a normal kid."  
"So when did you realize you weren't?"  
Starsky looked down at the worn fabric of the couch. "When I saw my Pop die. I was thirteen at the time. My dad was a security guard for this fancy office building. He took us to school in the mornings before he went to work, but he didn't get off until five o'clock, so Ma always picked us up after school. Sometimes he worked late to pick up a little extra cash, so we weren't worried at first when he didn't come home on time that night. Ma just fed us then fixed him a plate and put it in the oven to keep it warm. I was in my room, doing my homework, when I got this horrible pain in my chest. I thought I was going to pass out. Before I could yell for Ma, the pain stopped. I realized it wasn't me that was hurting. Then I saw my Pop. Our car was at the bottom of a ravine, and my dad was inside. Later, they told us that he must have had a massive heart attack. They said he was dead before the car went through the guard rail."  
He turned to look at Hutch, his eyes haunted. "I think that was the longest night of my life. I wanted to tell Ma, but I couldn't get the words out. I couldn't even make myself go down stairs. So I sat on my bed and waited for the police to come. I kept hoping that it was all a bad dream. Every time a car came up the street, I prayed that it was my dad. But he never came."  
He stood up and paced around the room, swiping at his eyes. "I never told anyone about that night, until we went to live with my grandma. She was my dad's mom, and came from some little town in Bulgaria. She always called it 'the old country'. We'd been living there for a couple of months when she came to me and told me that she knew I had second sight. I didn't know what she was talking about until she explained it to me. She said her mother had it, too, but she thought we'd lost it because she didn't have it. She told me it was a gift, but after what happened to my dad, I didn't believe her. Then she told me it would be our secret and never to tell anyone else. I never have, until now. But I can tell you this much; I can't count the number of times that I wished I didn't have it. Grandma was wrong. It's not a gift, it's a curse."  
He turned around and gazed at Hutch. "So now you know the whole sordid story. We're not meant to know the future, and if I could give it up, I would in a heartbeat."  
Hutch closed the distance between them and laid a hand on Starsky's shoulder.   
"I'm sorry. That must have been horrible for you. I can't imagine what it was like."  
Starsky shrugged and smiled tentatively. "Yeah, well, we all have our own demons to fight, I guess."  
The blond looked into indigo eyes. "Yeah, I guess we do."  
Starsky met the blue eyes and nodded slowly. He could sense the weight of the other man's thoughts. Memories swirled in bits and pieces between them. Disturbing images whirled in his head, images of another bedroom, and ropes biting into wrists. He caught a flash of pain and a shame that was buried deep in the other's soul. A name rose unbidden in the detective's mind, burning with hatred and loathing: Forest. He longed to ask what it all signified, but in deference to the budding friendship, held his tongue. There would be time for revelations later and if Hutch wanted to tell him, he would. Instead, he stepped away, breaking the contact, and smiled.  
"Well, I think we should try to get back to sleep. Dobey will have our asses in the morning if we don't try to get some rest."  
"You got that right." Hutch crawled back under the covers and turned on his side. "Good night, Starsk."  
Starsky went back to his own bed and climbed in. "'Night, Hutch."  
Hours later, Hutch opened his eyes and took stock of his condition. The headache was still there, but manageable. His back was a little stiff from sleeping in an unfamiliar bed, but otherwise he was ready to face another day. We're right on your heels, Mr. Phantom. You'd better watch your back, because we're coming after you.  
Starsky was already up, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee by his elbow. He got up and took another mug from the cabinet, filling it with the strong brew. He put it down and motioned at the other chair.  
"Good morning. How's the head?"  
"It's not bad, actually. I think I'll live. Did you get any sleep?"  
"Yeah, a little. Hey, you want some breakfast? I had a couple of pieces of pizza earlier. There's still some in the fridge, if you want it. Oh, the bathroom's that way, if you want to freshen up a little."  
Hutch's stomach rolled at the mention of pizza for breakfast. "Nah, that's OK. I'm not much for breakfast. I'll get something later. But I will take you up on that offer to get cleaned up."  
He finished the coffee and went into the bathroom. Well, I don't have any clean clothes, so a shower is out of the question. I'll just have to settle for washing up a bit. Maybe I can swing by my place later and grab a shower.  
He did the best he could then went back to sit with Starsky, and looked him over carefully.  
"So, do you think you're ready to catch this guy? You gave us the best lead we've gotten so far last night. With any luck, we'll know who he is before the day is over."  
"Are you kidding? I was ready three days ago. The sooner we get him the better we can all sleep at night."   
He glared bemusedly at the lieutenant as the events of the previous night came back to him.  
"Oh, by the way, do you know what I had to go through to get that desk Sergeant to call you last night? He acted like your number was a state secret or something. That was a Hell of a time to realize that I didn't have it, and I don't even know where you live."  
Hutch had the grace to look embarrassed. "Sorry, things have been so hectic that I forgot to give it to you."   
He took a card from his wallet and wrote on the back of it and handed it to Starsky. "That's my number and my address. Charlie was only doing his job. We stopped giving out private numbers a while back. You'd be surprised how many disgruntled ex-cons would love a chance to get back at the cops that put them away."  
Starsky took the card and read the information on the back of it. He put it in his wallet for safe-keeping. "Yeah, I guess I can understand that. But I really don't want to go through that whole rigmarole again if I need to get a hold of you fast." He grinned good-naturedly. "Even psychics have to communicate the old-fashioned way sometimes."  
Hutch laughed and nodded as he stood up. "You have a point there. Come on; I want to swing by the station and check in with Dobey before we head for O'Neil's."  
"Sounds good to me. Let's go."  
Larry Ashby stalked around his house, muttering to himself. Where the Hell did that cop come from? How could he have known? Could that bitch have called him? No, that wasn't possible! No one knew where he would strike next. He was the Phantom in Black. No one knew who he was!  
He walked into his bedroom and stared at the pictures thumb-tacked to the wall. Their eyes looked back, ridiculing him. He could almost hear them laughing as they pointed to him.  
He shook his fist at them. "Shut up! Stop laughing at me!"  
Poor little scar faced Larry. Why are you such a wimp, Larry? You're so pathetic! Why on Earth would WE want to be friends with YOU? Go back to the dungeon where you belong, little boy. Hide your face in the shadows with the rest of the weasels. We're too good for the likes of YOU!   
"I'm not a wimp and I'm not a weasel, either! I'm a human being, just like you!"  
The faces glared down at him. Are you kidding? You're nothing but a pitiful little clerk. Nobody wants you! Nobody likes you! Scurry away, you little rat. We're much too busy for you!  
They all thought they were so high and mighty! Well, he showed them, didn't he? He'd teach them to make fun of him. His arms hung to his side as he clenched his fists.  
"You shouldn't have laughed at me. It's not nice to laugh at people. It's mean, and now you have to be punished."  
He reached up and traced the red lines that ran down the length of the first three pictures. "You're not laughing at me anymore, are you? You aren't so special any more, are you? Now who's the ugly one? Your precious friends couldn't help you, could they? You're all alone now, just like me."  
Larry shook himself and forced his thoughts back to the present. It was getting late. He had to get ready for work. Part of him was afraid to go, but he knew that if he didn't show up, it might look suspicious. Not that anyone really cared, mind you. He was just a cog in a great big wheel. But he hadn't missed a day in over three years. If he didn't go to work, one of his nosy co-workers just might report it to the cop, and that's the last thing he wanted.   
He'd seen that old coot, Barnes, talking to the lieutenant after he'd taken care of that slut, Jeannie Gordon. When Barnes came back down to the mail room, Larry asked him what the cop said. The old geezer just laughed in his face.   
"Don't worry, Ashby. He just asked about Jeannie Gordon. I told him we didn't travel in the same circles and aimed him at the execs. So don't get your panties in a wad. He's not going to come after anyone with a rubber hose. He's not interested in us. Christ, you're such a chicken-shit!"  
Larry had just growled under his breath and stomped off. Barnes would get his, sooner or later. After he finished with those hoity-toity executives, he'd go after scumbags like Barnes. He smiled now as he imagined the expression on the old goat's face. We'll see who's a chicken-shit, won't we, Barnes?  
Starsky walked slightly ahead of Hutch as he led him to the offices in the Jewelry Accounts department. Apparently, Dobey had spent most of the morning putting a lid on all the media in the city. So far, the news of Sabrina's death hadn't made it to O'Neil's. If anyone in her department asked, they would simply be told that she'd called in sick. Hutch plainly wanted to break the news to her co-workers himself.  
The Gerard stayed back as Hutch walked up to the receptionist's desk. In his hand was a piece of paper, with all the employees' names on it. He quietly asked for Michelle Gerard, and the receptionist pointed to an office to the left. The detective knocked and was admitted, with Starsky close behind him.  
"Mrs. Gerard, I'm Lieutenant Ken Hutchinson with the BCPD. I'm afraid I have some bad news. Sabrina Abernathy was attacked in her condominium last night. I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but she died early this morning."  
Michelle paled and slumped back against her chair. "Oh, my God! Was it- was it the same maniac that killed Jeannie and Tom?"  
"I'm sorry to say that it was. I know this is quite a shock, but it's vital that I talk to you. Do you think you could answer a few questions for me? It's really important."  
She pulled several tissues from a box on her desk and wiped the tears from her face. "I don't know how I can help, but I'll try. What did you want to ask me?"  
Hutch sat and motioned for Starsky to do the same. He kept his voice gentle, but firm.  
"Mrs. Gerard, it's come to my attention that there was an incident a few days ago, involving Sabrina and a male employee. I'm not sure which department he's in, but Sabrina was with several of her co-workers when the incident happened. I'm hoping you were there, also. You were talking when this young man walked up and tried to take part in the conversation. He invited you all out for coffee. You apparently thought he was simply making conversation and refused. As he was leaving, he knocked some items of Sabrina's desk. He was very humiliated by what happened. Do you remember that incident, Mrs. Gerard?"  
"Yeah, I really felt sorry for poor Larry. He tries so hard to fit in, but it just makes him look awkward. But what could that possibly have to do with Sabrina's death?"  
Hutch exchanged glances with Starsky then turned back to Michele. "You said his name was Larry? Do you know his full name and the department he works in?"  
"Of course; it's Larry Ashby. He's worked in the mail room for over four years now. But Larry would never hurt a fly! He's always the first to help when we have something urgent to mail. He's a sweet young man!"  
"Do you know if he's here this morning?"  
She shook her head slightly. "I don't know, honestly. It's a little early, though. Larry usually makes his first rounds around ten, and again at two. Bill Barnes delivers the mail first thing in the morning, but Larry is responsible for all out-going mail. During the busy seasons, the mail is sent out twice a day instead of just once."  
Hutch signaled to Starsky with his eyes as he got up. "Thank-you for your help, Mrs. Gerard. I'm sorry for your loss. Oh, we haven't released the news of Sabrina's death to the media yet. I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't mention it to anyone else for a while."  
She nodded shakily. "All right, if that's what you want. But, surely you don't think Larry-"  
Hutch put his hand up. "Right now, all we want to do is ask him some questions."  
He waited until they were out in the hall before turning to Starsky. "Do you know this guy?"  
"Yeah, I know him. He's like a fixture around here. Christ! Of all the people in this building, Larry's the last one I'd finger. He's never given anyone a bit of trouble."  
Hutch put a hand on his shoulder. "Remember what I said? This guy isn't going to stand out. Whatever's going on is in his head. I think we need to talk to him as soon as possible. Where's the mail room?"  
Starsky walked off. "Come on; I'll show you."  
They took the elevator down to the basement. Starsky turned left and walked along the hallway. He led the detective through a metal, fire-proof door and into a large room. Several employees scurried between large baskets made of canvas, sorting through mail and putting it into smaller carts for delivery. Some of the clerks looked up when Starsky and Hutch entered, but most of them didn't. This was their domain. Down here, below the elaborate offices and plush carpeting, they were the rulers.   
Hutch recognized William Barnes and touched Starsky on his arm. They made their way to where the older man stood.   
"Mr. Barnes, do you remember me? I'm Lieutenant Hutchinson."  
"I remember. What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"  
"We're looking for Larry Ashby. I'd like to ask him a few questions. Is he here?"  
Barnes glanced briefly at Starsky then shrugged. "He's here somewhere, I guess. He didn't call in today. Why? What do you want with that little wimp?"  
Hutch's eyes narrowed as he looked at the older man. "I take it you don't care for him."  
"He's a mamma's boy. He jumps every time you yell boo at him and runs off with his tail between his legs. He's always upstairs trying to rub elbows with the execs instead of doing his job down here. Why O'Neil keeps him around I'll never know."  
"Did you ever see him talking to Jeannie Gordon or Tom Rowan?"  
Barnes laughed scornfully. "He'll talk to anyone that will listen to him. He follows those execs around like a puppy dog. Maybe he wants to be one of them, I don't know. I think they put up with him because they're too nice to tell him to get lost. The little wimp's got too much against him to ever make it out of the mail room, though."  
"I don't understand. What does he have going against him?"  
"Have you seen him? He's a scrawny little punk, with scars all over his face. I think they're from when he had chicken pox as a kid, or something like that. Anyway, he's nothing but a timid little mouse. He doesn't have the back bone to make it as an exec."  
"Have you seen him this morning, Mr. Barnes?"  
"Nah, but that doesn't mean anything. He's probably upstairs, mooching coffee from one of the secretaries. They all like to mother the little creep."  
Hutch rolled his eyes at Starsky, shaking his head. "OK, thanks for your help. Look, when he comes in, don't tell him that we're looking for him. I don't want to scare him off. We only want to ask him a few questions." He handed the clerk his card. "Here's my number. If he comes in, call me right way, understand? It's vital that we talk to him."  
"Sure, but you're wasting your time. Larry's scared of his own shadow. There's no way he'll be able to tell you anything useful."  
Hutch scowled with disgust. "Just call, OK?"  
Starsky kept quiet until they were back in the elevator. "If you ask me, Larry's been going after the wrong people. Barnes makes him look like an angel."  
"Yeah, well, I took an oath to protect and serve, and that even includes assholes like Barnes." He looked around the main lobby. "I don't think we'll have any luck chasing him down here. He knows this building like the back of his hand by now. Anyway, as long as the people are here, they're safe. He won't go after anyone in the open like this. Let's get down to the station and fill Dobey in on the situation. Besides, I want to learn everything I can about Larry Ashby before I go after him."  
He patted Starsky on the stomach. "Cheer up, Starsk. This nightmare is almost over."  
"Like the man says, it ain't over till the fat lady sings, Hutch. We still gotta get him behind bars and before we can do that, we gotta find him."  
Hutch's grin was feral. "Oh, we'll find him, Starsk, believe it."  
He put his arm on Starsky's shoulders and walked out of the building. Neither man saw the figure skulking in the corner. Larry Ashby glared at the two departing backs with fire in his eyes.  
Hutch flipped through the file on his desk, scowling as he reviewed the scant information. He looked over at Starsky.  
"Well, this is all we can find on Larry Ashby. He was charged with making harassing phone calls and making a public nuisance of himself, but his public defender worked out a deal and he got probation. There's a mention of some trouble when he was younger, but his juvenile records were sealed when he turned eighteen. I can try to get a warrant to open them, but that will take days. I don't think we have that much time. The only thing of interest is a note that he spent some time in Cabrillo State for depression, but that's all it says."  
Starsky frowned. "Cabrillo State is a facility for the criminally insane, isn't it? Why would he be sent there for depression? That doesn't make sense."  
"That's what I thought, too. I called the institution earlier, but the psychiatrist in charge of his case was out. He's supposed to call me back soon."  
"Nothing about this guy makes sense. What made him go from making phone calls to killing people? That's a pretty big jump."  
Hutch shrugged. "Yeah, I know. Maybe his doctor can shed some light on that for us."  
"So, what do we do, just sit and wait for the guy to call back?"  
The blond grinned. "You know me better than that. Dobey's on the line with Judge Harmon as we speak. He went to bat for us with Garvey; let's hope he does the same with Ashby."  
Starsky nodded slowly as realization dawned. "You want a warrant for Ashby's house. Do you honestly think you'll find anything?"  
"It worked with Garvey. Maybe Larry likes to keep trophies, too."  
"What if he's there?"  
"Then we take him in for questioning before we search his place. I hope he is there, truthfully. I don't like the idea of him being loose on the city. I'd rather have him in a cell where I can keep an eye on him."  
Starsky grinned wickedly. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's go."  
Larry Ashby's address was listed as 1117 Gladys Avenue in his personnel file. The address led them to a small single dwelling home a few miles from the advertising agency. The house was a nondescript residence, painted white with pale green shutters. The yard was mowed, but the bushes in front of the house hadn't been trimmed in a while. Although there was a carport attached to the house, there were no vehicles parked inside. According to his file, Larry drove an early model Volkswagen beetle.   
Hutch looked around. "Damn, it doesn't look like anybody's home. Before we go in, let's see if his neighbors can tell us a little more about him, and hopefully where he could be. If he comes back while we're looking through his stuff, it might just send him over the edge."  
He motioned to the house next door. "Let's start here. If nobody's home, we'll spread out."  
He walked up a narrow sidewalk to a house that was a carbon copy of Larry's, only this one was painted a light blue. Hutch knocked and waited for a moment then stepped back as an elderly woman opened the door.  
"Yes, may I help you?"  
"Yes, ma'am, I'm Lieutenant Hutchinson with the Bay City P. D. I'm looking for Larry Ashby, your next door neighbor. Do you know him?"   
"Yes, I know Larry. He's a nice boy and a good neighbor. Why are you looking for him?"  
"There have been some problems at O'Neil's, where he works. We were hoping he could help us with the investigation."  
The elderly lady shook her head sadly. "Oh, that's such a shame. I know how much he loves his job. But, I don't know if he's home right now. He's so quiet that you really don't know he's there most of the time."  
"What else can you tell us about him? Does he have any friends or relatives that he might be visiting?"  
"I know he doesn't have any family in town. His father passed away a few years ago and his mom is in a nursing home. Poor thing, she doesn't even remember Larry any more when he goes to visit. Alzheimer's, you know."  
"What about friends? Is there anyone close by that he socializes with?"  
"Not really. Larry's painfully shy, you see. The poor thing had chicken pox when he was a teenager, and it left some horrible scars on his face. He's so self-conscious about it. That's why the job at O'Neil's was so good for him. He had to associate with people all the time. It helped bring him out of his shell a little, you see."  
"You sound like you know him pretty well, Mrs.--."  
"It's Mrs. Blankenship, Gertrude Blankenship. Well, Ella, his mother, owns that house. She and Fred moved in when they were first married. When Fred died, Ella paid the house off with his insurance money, so it was free and clear. We've been neighbors for almost thirty years. Now, Larry lives in the house alone. Ella deeded the house over to Larry when her health went down. She said she wanted to make sure he always had a place to live, even after she was gone."  
"Then he doesn't have any brothers or sisters?"  
"No, Larry is an only child. Ella had a terrible time with him and the doctor said she shouldn't have any more children. But she didn't mind. She doted on Larry. He was her whole life and after Fred died, he was a real comfort to her."  
Hutch looked around for a moment. "OK, thanks, Mrs. Blankenship. I appreciate you talking to us. You've been a big help."  
As they walked off, Starsky shot a puzzled look to the detective. "Were you just being nice or was she really that helpful?"  
"So far, he fits the profile. He's a loner, we've already heard how shy he is, and he's self-conscious about those scars. It also sounds like he was pretty sheltered while he was growing up. When his mother's illness left him alone in this big, bad world, Larry couldn't cope, so he snapped. She was probably the reason why he didn't go after anyone sooner."  
Hutch knocked on the paint-chipped front door and waited. There was no sound from the interior of the house. He exchanged looks with the psychic and knocked again.  
"Larry Ashby? This is the police. We'd like to talk to you."  
There was still no sound and no movement from inside. Starsky turned to the detective.  
"So, what do we do now?"  
"We see if we can find another way in. I can break the door down if I have to, but the department frowns on unnecessary expenses. Not that I'm too worried about it, but if Larry does happen to be innocent, we'll be responsible for any damage done to his home. Let's go around the back."  
Starsky snorted. "Yeah, right. You just don't want that nice old lady to see you break Larry's door down. She might come after you with a rolling pin or something."  
"Very funny, Starsk. You're a regular comedian. Come on."  
They walked around back and found another door. Although this one was locked also, the latch was old and rusty. Hutch threw his shoulder against the wooden door once then stood to one side as it swung inward.   
He waited for a few seconds then called out again. "Larry Ashby? This is the police! We have a warrant to search this residence."  
When there was still no answer, he turned to Starsky. "OK, stay close. I don't trust this guy. If he's our man, he could be hiding behind any of these doors."  
Starsky made a motion with his hands. "After you, Lieutenant."  
Hutch took his gun out then they walked slowly through the house. The living room, bathroom, and first bedroom offered no clues about their inhabitant. It was obvious to the two men that Larry lived alone. The house was sparsely furnished and immaculate. Nothing was out of place.   
Starsky unconsciously kept his voice down. "It doesn't look like anybody lives here. I mean, there's no empty bottles, no dirty dishes sitting on the coffee table, and it doesn't even look like he's sat on the couch. This guy takes the phrase neat freak to a whole new level."  
Hutch looked around and shuddered slightly. "Yeah, it's almost spooky. Come on; let's see if his bedroom's any different."  
Still holding his weapon, he headed for the second bedroom. The door was closed, but not locked. He turned the knob and shoved the door inward, pushing Starsky behind him. Aiming his gun defensively, he stepped around the door and looked behind it. Then he crossed over to the closet and opened it, looking for any sign of Larry Ashby. Finally, he checked under the bed. He let his breath out slowly and turned to the psychic.  
"OK, it's clear."  
He started to say more, but stopped when he looked at Starsky's expression. The brunet was staring at the wall opposite the bed. Slowly, his eyes traveled up and down the wall.  
"Oh, my God."  
Hutch covered the distance in two strides. He looked at the photos tacked to the wall then turned to Starsky.  
"Well, it looks like we have our answer. Don't touch anything. I'm going to call for the lab boys. I want them to take this place apart. And I'm going to put out an APB on Larry. It's time we got him off the street."  
Starsky simply nodded and kept his eyes on the pictures. He didn't notice when Hutch left the room or when he returned. The blond stepped closer to him, speaking softly.  
"What's going on, Starsk? What do you see?"  
The psychic's eyes remained riveted on the pictures. "I see him, not now, but when he was young. I see how it was for him. He almost died. That's strange, considering it's just a childhood disease, but he was thirteen when he got it. The fever got so high that he almost went into convulsions. His mom sat with him for days, bathing him in cool water to get the fever down and to help stop the itching. She even put mittens on his hands, to keep him from scratching. It didn't help, though. The scars were still bad. They're not just on his face, they cover his whole body. He was self-conscious of them from the start. His parents tried to help, but they didn't know how deep the scars ran. His mom told him that it didn't matter. It didn't change who he was, but it did. He was already shy, but now the scars made it worse. She told him that nice people didn't make fun of others, but the kids at school made life Hell for him. They called him Scarface. He didn't have many friends before, but now he was all alone.   
His mom tried to make up for it. She doted on him. She tried to replace all the friends he didn't have any more. His dad was ashamed of him, though. It wasn't the scars, they didn't matter to him. He thought Larry's mother was turning him into a mamma's boy. He tried to toughen him up, but Larry only thought of it as abuse. When his dad died, Larry was glad. It was one less person that was tormenting him.   
When his mom started getting sick Larry tried to deny it to himself. He was working at O'Neil's by then. He liked it, even though he had to mingle with the other people. Most of them were nice. They didn't make fun of him and even told him that he was a good worker. But then there were the others. He tried to make friends with them, but they were too busy. They pretended not to laugh, but he could see them pointing at him and giggling when they thought he wasn't looking. Once again, he turned to his mother. She told him not to pay attention to them. She said they were just being ugly and not to let it bother him. But it did. When his mom got worse, he divided his time between work and taking care of her. At first, it was easy. He made sure she had everything she needed before he left for work and called her several times a day. But gradually she got worse. He was worried that she would start to cook one day then forget she had the stove on, so he rigged it so that she couldn't turn the gas on. He didn't want to put her in the nursing home, but he didn't have a choice. She sneaked out of the house one night when he was asleep and got lost. She was gone for two days. He was frantic. He searched the city and finally found her in a shelter. The people there tried to find out who she was, but she didn't have her purse with her. He realized that he couldn't take care of her anymore, so he put her in the home. He was devastated. The only person in the world that loved him had been taken away. That's when he started hearing the voices. They were making fun of him, taunting him about his face and his shyness. His mom wasn't here to ward them off any more. Finally he snapped. The people that laughed at him weren't nice and they had to be punished. So he punished them."  
Starsky finally turned away from the pictures and shuddered. Exhausted, he slumped against the wall.  
Hutch caught him by the shoulders. "Are you OK?"  
Starsky shook his head. "No. I could feel his pain, and his anger. There are more secrets, but they're locked deep inside his mind." He turned agonized blue eyes on the detective. "We have to talk to his psychiatrist now. He can tell us more about Larry, and why he was really in the institution. It wasn't just for the depression. There's something more sinister, and a lot worse, hiding in his subconscious."  
"OK, we'll go as soon as the lab boys get here. It shouldn't be long."  
Starsky looked around, his face stricken. "I have to get out of here. I can hear them again; Jeanie and Tom and Sabrina. I can hear them screaming."  
Hutch grabbed him and gently pushed him out of the house. "Here, you can go sit in the car. I'll be out as soon as I can."  
As soon as the team from the crime lab arrived, Hutch quickly gave them their orders and went back to the car. Starsky was slumped in the passenger seat, his head against the seat and his eyes closed. He didn't open them when Hutch got in the driver's side.  
"Are you OK?" Hutch laughed self-consciously. "I'm sorry. I keep asking you that. Is there anything I can do for you?"  
Starsky moved his head from side to side. "Just get us out of here. I don't care where you go, as long as it's away from him."  
Hutch put the car in gear and took off. When they were a few blocks away from Larry's neighborhood, he picked up the microphone on the radio.  
"Adam-14 to Dispatch."  
"This is Dispatch, go ahead Adam-14."  
"Minnie, this is Hutch. Has Dr. Solomon called back yet?"  
"Yeah, he called about twenty minutes ago. He said he'd be in his office until five if you want to talk to him."  
"Good, call him and tell him we're on our way, will you? Tell him it's about a former patient of his and that it's extremely important. You know which patient I'm talking about, right?"  
"I know. Gotcha, Hutch. Dispatch over and out."  
Hutch put the mike back on its hook and glanced over at Starsky. "Are you going to be up to this? I can drop you somewhere if you'd rather sit this one out."  
"I can't. I have to know what he's hiding. It's so far down in his subconscious that he can't even think about it. Maybe it will help us stop him, or at least, understand him better."  
Hutch sighed. "OK, but if it gets to be too much let me know. I can protect you physically, but I have no idea how to protect you emotionally. This is a whole new ball game for me."  
Starsky grinned wryly. "Well, this whole thing hasn't exactly been SOP for me, either. I'll be all right, Hutch. If we can get to him before he kills someone else, a few more nightmares will be worth it."  
With a slight shake of his head and a shrug, Hutch continued on the route to Cabrillo State. Fortunately, they were ushered into Dr. Solomon's office as soon as they arrived. Hutch quickly filled the doctor in on the case. Solomon sat back in his chair, a concerned expression on his face.  
"And you're certain Larry Ashby is the person you're looking for?"  
"Doctor, there was no way we could misinterpret the photos in his bedroom. Now, I know that communication between you and Larry is confidential, but anything you can tell us will help."  
"Very well, I'll tell you what I can without violating Larry's confidence. What did you want to know?"  
Hutch glanced at Starsky then proceeded with his questions. "Larry wasn't just in here for depression, was he?"  
"No, he wasn't."  
"Can you tell us his diagnosis?"  
Instead of answering, Dr. Solomon fixed Starsky with a pointed look. "I don't believe we were introduced."  
Hutch cleared his throat. "Sorry, this is my associate, David Starsky. He's consulting with us on the case."  
"Then he's not a police officer?"  
"No, Mr. Starsky is a civilian attached temporarily to the department."  
"I see. But, as such, he's still bound by the ethics and regulations of your department, correct?"  
Hutch ran a hand over his face. "He won't divulge anything we say here, Doctor. He's here to help, not leak information to the media."  
When Solomon still looked skeptical, Starsky spoke calmly. "I work in the same agency as Larry, Doctor. The three people he killed were friends of mine. We're not out to crucify him. We want to understand so we can help him, and do it before he hurts anyone else."  
Solomon sighed. "Very well, Larry was diagnosed with clinical depression, complicated by delusions and auditory and visual hallucinations."  
"What was his treatment?"  
"He was given intense psychological counseling and started on a regimen of medications."  
"How long was he here?"  
"He was an inpatient for two years then was seen as an outpatient for another three years."  
"When did he stop coming in?"  
"When his mother's condition started deteriorating. I urged Larry to continue therapy, but he said he didn't have time. It took all of his energy and concentration to work and take care of her. He continued his medications, though, so I thought he might be all right, even without the counseling."  
"And when was the last time you heard from him?"  
Dr. Solomon avoided Hutch's eyes. "Six months ago."  
Hutch grimaced. "You haven't had any contact with him at all in six months? Then how can you be sure that he's still taking his medication?"  
Solomon studied his fingernails. "I can't."  
Hutch's jaw clenched. "Do you mean to tell me that this guy came in depressed, seeing things and hearing things, and when he suddenly drops out of sight, you do nothing about it? I thought it was your responsibility to follow up on your patients, Doctor."  
Solomon protested loudly. "I did! I called him, both at home and at work. I went to his house, but he was never home. I even left messages at the nursing home for him to call me, but he never returned my phone calls." He bristled defensively. "We have over three hundred patients in this facility and only ten psychiatrists. A large majority of our patients are violent and require constant observation. Larry Ashby passed all of his assessment tests before he was released and was determined as a low risk to himself and to the community. We simply do not have the resources to keep up with every patient that has been discharged. I did the best that I could!"  
"Well, it wasn't good enough, Doctor." Hutch took a deep breath and lowered his voice. "I want to know the real reason why he was admitted to Cabrillo State. If I have to get a warrant and come back, I will, but I'll be blunt. We're running out of time. I need to find Larry and I need to find him as soon as humanly possible."  
"I don't know if I can tell you that."  
"Doctor, I know the law. Any communication you had with Larry during his treatment is confidential, but the circumstances surrounding his admission are not. Now, why was he admitted?"  
Starsky stiffened as images from Solomon's mind flashed across his subconscious. He held the psychiatrist's eyes with his.  
"Doctor, how did Larry Ashby's father die?"  
Hutch shot an astonished look at Starsky then switched his attention back to the doctor.   
Solomon fidgeted in his chair. "He fell and struck his head on the kitchen counter. He suffered a major skull fracture and died from complications derived from swelling of the brain."  
Hutch raised an eyebrow. "That must have been one Hell of a fall."  
"In layman's terms, he hit his temple on the corner of the counter. That part of the skull is very fragile, especially as we get older. It was an unfortunate accident."  
"Where was Larry when this accident happened?"  
Solomon's voice was subdued. "He was there."  
Starsky nodded slowly. "They were fighting, weren't they?"   
Solomon looked uncomfortable. "Larry and his father didn't get along. Fred thought his son was weak and was constantly berating and criticizing him. He was from the old school, where men were tough and boys didn't cry. They argued that day, but Larry was not directly responsible for his father's death. The court ruled it as an accident."  
Hutch glared at the doctor. "But it exacerbated Larry's condition, didn't it? You said his ego was very fragile. The court may have ruled that it was an accident, but Larry could have blamed himself, couldn't he? Or, the conflicting emotions he felt after his father's death could have sent him over the edge. He hated his father for what he did to him, but he loved him, because he was his father."  
"You're merely speculating, Lieutenant, and practicing armchair psychology. I can't tell you the specifics, because that would be violating doctor/patient confidentiality. Suffice it to say, Larry was cleared of all complicity in his father's death. That's all I can tell you."  
"All right, doctor, we'll leave it at that for now. But I want a list of all of Larry's medications. I'll check with the drug stores in the vicinity and try to establish exactly when he stopped taking his medication."  
"Don't you mean, if he stopped taking it? We don't know for sure that he has."  
"I don't have time to waste on semantics, Doctor. Could we have the list, please?"  
Dr. Solomon grumbled as he walked over to a large filing cabinet. He unlocked it then took out a file. Shielding its contents from the other men, he withdrew a sheet of paper and took it to a copy machine in the back of his office. He returned a few minutes later and handed Hutch the paper.  
"This is all of Larry's medications, including the dosage and schedule of administration. As you can see, the pharmacy listed at the bottom of the page is Albright's Drugs. However, it's possible that Larry changed pharmacies after we stopped treating him. That's not against regulations."  
"Well, it's a place to start, anyway." Hutch got up with Starsky right behind him. "Good day, Doctor."  
After they were out of the building and back in the car, Starsky shook his head in astonishment. "Can you believe that guy? If Larry killed those people, you'd think Solomon would want to cooperate as much as possible."  
Hutch shrugged. "It's the almighty dollar, Starsky. He's worried about a lawsuit. If Larry Ashby is apprehended and charged with three counts of first degree murder, and if he's convicted, any of the victims' families can sue Cabrillo State and Dr. Solomon for malpractice and negligence. I know those are pretty big 'ifs', but you can bet they're foremost in the good doctor's mind. His first priority is to protect the institution and himself."  
"So he'd be willing to risk more lives just to keep the public from knowing he let a psychotic like Larry Ashby go?"  
"I'm afraid so. That's why we have to find Ashby before he kills again. Let's go. I want to check the drug store out before it closes."  
Albright's Drug Store was a small pharmacy a few blocks from Larry Ashby's home. Sandwiched between a used book store and a small deli, the store was the epitome of family ran businesses. Inside, there were only two clerks and the pharmacists behind the counter were older, and as Hutch found out soon, were the owners.   
"Yeah, I know Larry. The whole family has been loyal customers since they moved into the neighborhood. What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"  
"I was speaking with his doctor earlier. He's a little concerned about Larry because he hasn't heard from him in a while. He's afraid that Larry has stopped taking his medicine and is having problems again."  
Stephan Albright shook his head sadly. "I was afraid it was something like that. Larry used to come in right on schedule to refill his meds. I always emphasized the importance of taking them on time. With some of the medication he's on, it's not a good idea to stop taking them cold turkey."  
"Can you tell me the last time he was in? It's very important, Mr. Albright."  
"Let me check." The pharmacist thumbed through a small card file behind the counter. "Oh dear, I didn't realize it had been that long. The last refill expired six months ago. That's why I thought he'd switched drug stores. The prescriptions can't be filled without a doctor's order and we never got one. I figured his psychiatrist simply called them in somewhere else."  
"Have you seen him at all since then?"  
Albright shook his head. "No. He used to come in all the time. He had his own medicine, plus his mothers. But I heard Ella was in a nursing home, so I knew she was in good hands. There are newer and bigger drug stores closer to where Larry works, so I just thought he'd switched. My wife and I are getting older. We'll be retiring soon. I'm not surprised some of our younger customers are going somewhere else."  
He shook himself slightly and looked at Hutch. "Larry is a good boy. He's had some problems, but he never gave me a bit of trouble when he came in here. Before Ella got bad, he would always pick up something little for her whenever he came for his meds. He said it was just to make her smile. I sure hope he's OK. He's had enough sadness in his young life."  
Hutch was quiet for a moment then asked, "Mr. Albright, can you think of anywhere Larry liked to go when he wanted to be alone? He's not at work, and we checked his house, but his car was gone. We'd really like to find him. His psychiatrist said that if he hasn't been taking his medication for a while, he could suffer a relapse."  
"Larry's always been a loner, but if you talked to his doctor, you know that already. With Ella in a nursing home, he must be feeling more isolated than ever. He liked going to the park, and the beach when he was younger. I guess Ella started that. She used to push him in his stroller when Fred was at work. You might try there. And he likes to ride his bike on the paths in the park."  
Hutch glanced at Starsky then turned back to the pharmacist. "We didn't see a bike at his house. What kind is it?"  
"It's a ten-speed racing bike, but he's always been responsible on it. It's a damn good looking bike, and expensive, but Larry got a good deal on it. He bought it right after he got out of the institution, before he saved enough to buy his car. I think it's green with chrome handle bars and has a black seat."  
Hutch sighed under his breath. "OK, thanks, Mr. Albright. If he happens to come in, I'd appreciate it if you'd give me a call." He handed the older man a card. "My number is on the front. The desk Sergeant can reach me any time day or night."  
"OK, if he comes in, I'll call. I hope you find him, Lieutenant. I sure would hate to see him get into trouble. He has enough on his shoulders with Ella being in the home."  
Hutch said good-bye then walked back to his car with Starsky. He scowled as he got in the driver's seat.   
"Well, if he hasn't taken his medicine in months, that's why he went over the edge. He's alone with all of his demons, and his mother is locked in a world of her own. Damn, I guess I'd better put out an APB on his bike, too. If it wasn't at his house, he's probably got it stashed somewhere."  
Starsky looked puzzled. "Why? Do you think he rode the bike when he killed Sabrina, Tom, and Jeannie?"  
"I don't know, but that could be why no one saw or heard anything. You could hear a car start up if it was late at night, but you can't hear somebody riding away on a bike. Albright said it was a racing bike, so by the time anyone called the police, he could have been miles away."  
"Well, that's just wonderful. If he's spotted, we could catch him in the car. But if he's on that bike, he could disappear down an alley or something before we even turned a corner. So what do we do now?"  
Hutch started the car and pulled into traffic. "Now we look. We'll start with the city parks, and if we don't find him, we'll go to the beach."  
Starsky shot the detective a pessimistic look. "That's like looking for a needle in a haystack. Only this particular haystack happens to consist of the whole city."  
"Hey, if you have a better idea, I'm all ears."  
"I wish."  
Hours later, the two men surrendered to the futility of their search and decided to call it a night. Hutch took the exhausted psychic to his apartment and dropped him off. As he got out of the car, Starsky turned to the blond.  
"Do you want to try it again in the morning?"  
Hutch shook his head. "Nah, we'll give the APB a chance to work. Every cop in this city has a description now of Larry, his bike and the Volkswagen. There's no sense in driving ourselves crazy. We'll find him sooner or later. And we have a couple of plain clothes detectives at O'Neil's. I don't think he'll show up there, but we've got the place staked out just in case."  
"What do you want me to do?"  
"Try to look as normal as possible. Go into work as usual and keep to your daily routine. If he thinks he's given us the slip, he might show himself."  
"Well, I don't know how much work I'll get done, but I'll show up, anyway. Let me know if anyone spots him."  
"You'll be the first to know." As the brunet started to walk away, Hutch called out to him. "Hey, Starsky."  
When the dark-haired man turned back, he gave him an encouraging smile. "Try to get some sleep. I'll call you tomorrow."  
Starsky nodded and walked away. Hutch waited until he was safely in the building before driving off.  
As Starsky walked up the stairs to his apartment, he felt a strong urge to run down to the street and call Hutch back. The silence grated on his nerves as the stairs seemed to take on an ominous life of their own. Oh, get real, Starsky. You're too old to be afraid of things that go bump in the night. This whole thing has got you jumping at shadows. Ashby knows we're onto him. He's crazy, but he's not stupid. By now, he's probably in the next state.  
With a final look around him, he unlocked the door to his apartment and switched on the lights. Feeling slightly foolish, he took the autographed baseball bat from the cabinet beside the door and went through each room carefully. There was no one else in the apartment. Laughing at his jittery nerves, he put the bat in its rightful place and took a beer out of the refrigerator. Although he should have been exhausted, he had to admit to himself that he was still wired. Maybe a hot shower will relax me. I gotta do somethin' if I'm going to get any sleep.   
He finished the beer and tossed the bottle in the trash on his way to the bathroom. The hot water felt good on his shoulders and back. He stayed in the shower until the water turned cold then put on a pair of sweat pants and his oldest, and softest, terry cloth robe. Feeling human again, he plopped into the recliner and read the paper, hoping the dry rhetoric would make him sleepy. At least there's nothing about Larry Ashby. They're doing a pretty good job on keeping it off the front page. If we're lucky, no one will know until he's behind bars.  
He jumped reflexively as a car on the street below back-fired. Jesus, Starsky, get a grip, would you? You're as jumpy as a whore in church! If Hutch was here, he'd be laughing his ass off. Next thing you know, you'll have every light in the apartment on. As he thought of the blond detective, his feeling of unease intensified. Something's wrong. I can feel it. But it's not here. WHAT IS IT? He put the paper down, leaned back in the recliner and closed his eyes. I don't know if I can do this. These premonitions have always just appeared. I've never tried to bring one of the damned things on. But, I need to know if he's OK. Determined to make it work, he conjured up an image of Hutch.   
Though he'd never been to Hutch's apartment, Starsky knew that's what he was seeing as the detective appeared in his mind's eye. Hutch was going through a similar routine that he had earlier: grabbing a beer from the refrigerator, taking a hot shower, and putting on sweat pants and a comfortable robe. His body language revealed that he was totally relaxed and looking forward to a good night's sleep.  
Suddenly, the focus of the scene shifted. Concentrating harder, Starsky could barely see a figure lurking in the multitude of plants on Hutch's balcony. The moonlight broke the darkness sporadically, only faintly separating the form clad in black from the plants. As Starsky watched, the headlights from a car below raked over the figure and glittered on the metal blade in his hand. In the background, he could see the rope tied to the rail of the balcony and dangling down.  
The psychic blurted the name out loud. "Oh, my God. Ashby!"  
He shot out of the recliner and lunged for the phone, dialing Hutch's number, but disconnecting before it could ring.   
"No, if Hutch goes to answer the phone, it could spook Ashby. Oh, God, what am I going to do? Think, Starsky! Think!"  
He snapped his fingers then clawed for the paper with Dobey's number on it. "Where is it? Damn it, it has to be here someplace. Oh, shit, what if I threw it out?"  
Finally, he found the number and dialed it. His finger slipped on one of the digits, forcing him to disconnect and start over. Taking a deep breath, he carefully dialed it again. He started talking as soon as he heard the gruff voice on the other end.  
"Captain, you have to get somebody over to Hutch's! Ashby's there. He's gonna kill Hutch!"  
"Wait a minute! Who is this? Starsky, is that you?"  
"Yeah, it's me. Damn it, you gotta listen! There isn't any time. Ashby is in Hutch's apartment. HE'S GONNA KILL HUTCH!"  
"OK, calm down. I'm going to hang up and call Hutch, and tell him to get out of the apartment."  
"NO!! You can't do that! Ashby's standing on the balcony. If the phone rings and Hutch goes to answer it, Ashby will be on him before you can blink. I don't have to tell you how good he is with that knife! Get some squad cars over there and tell them no sirens! I don't think he'll do anything until Hutch is asleep. He knows Hutch is a cop, so he won't go down as easy as the others. But we don't have much time! If Hutch crawls in that bed, he's a dead man!"  
"Starsky, I said calm down! I'll call and have back up over there ASAP. You sit tight! I'll call you as soon as I know something."  
As Dobey disconnected, Starsky growled a protest. "I'll be damned! If you think I'm going to sit and wait while that psycho goes after Hutch, you're the one that's crazy!"  
The brunet ripped off the robe and threw it toward the couch as he ran to the dresser and shrugged into the first shirt he touched. Without slowing down, he stuck his feet into his shoes and rushed back to the bathroom. Grabbing the jeans he'd been wearing off the floor, Starsky took his wallet out of the back pocket, and yanked out the card Hutch had given him, nearly tearing it in half in his haste. He repeated the address to himself as he stuck the card in his shirt pocket and grabbed his keys. Nearly tripping over his own feet as he thundered down the stairs, Starsky ran for the Torino. He had the car started and in gear almost before the car door closed.   
As he sped toward Hutch's Venice apartment, he thought he could hear sirens in the distance. Too late, they'll never get there in time. We're gonna be too late. Starsky tried desperately to think of a way to warn the detective. The feeling of dread squeezed his chest as the minutes ticked away. Somehow, some way, he had to warn Hutch.   
Then he remembered the night before, and the connection he'd shared with the other man. The bond was tenuous, Hutch's thoughts had flickered in and out, a collection of images more than complete thoughts. Still, he had seen Vanessa, and knew instinctively that she had once been someone important to the Lieutenant. The image of Forest was more obscure, bringing fleeting emotions of hatred and shame from the blond. But, Hutch wasn't psychic. Could he receive those images as well as project them? It was a long shot, but Starsky knew he had to try.   
Instead of trying to communicate using words, Starsky summoned a feeling of dread, and of imminent danger. Taking a deep breath, he projected the emotion toward Hutch with all his internal strength. He winced, and ducked his head as a sharp pain lanced across his temples. The Torino bounced twice as Starsky ran over the curb, turning a corner too sharp. Rubbing his forehead with one eye closed, Starsky turned his attention back to the road. A quick glance at the street sign that whizzed by told him that he was only a few blocks away. Hold on, Hutch, I'm coming!  
Hutch parked the Ford in its usual spot and wearily climbed the stairs to his apartment. He unlocked the door, and flipped on the light, sighing with relief as he leaned against the door. It had been a long day and he was looking forward to sleeping in his own bed. Shrugging out of his jacket, he tossed it on the couch then took his holster off and hung it on the peg on the wall.   
The pain in his head had dwindled to a niggling ache behind his eyes, but he could feel the tension in his shoulders as he stretched. A trail of clothes lay in his wake as he headed for the bathroom. A long, hot shower was just what the doctor ordered. He sighed as he stepped into the steaming water. Eight hours of uninterrupted sleep wouldn't hurt, either. Hutchinson, why do you put yourself through this?  
Ten minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom wearing an orange terry cloth robe. Rummaging through his dresser, he slipped into a comfortable pair of jogging pants and walked back into the kitchen for a beer. The cold brew felt so good going down that he finished it in just a few minutes. Setting the empty bottle on the counter, he winced slightly as it clinked against the other bottles. Hutch surveyed the kitchen guiltily. Even on the best days, he wasn't the most meticulous housekeeper in town, but now his apartment resembled the aftermath of an F-4 tornado. With a long-suffering sigh, he picked up the trash can beside the table and walked around the apartment, picking up empty bottles and assorted other trash. Then he made another round, gathering up dirty clothes and depositing them in the hamper in the bathroom. Well, that's a little better. At least I won't trip over something and break my neck if I get up in the middle of the night.  
Turning off the lights as he went, Hutch walked into the bedroom and crawled into bed. God that feels good! I think I could sleep for a month. He closed his eyes and settled his head on the pillow. The only sound that could be heard was the chirping of the insects and his own breathing as he drifted off to sleep. At first, his dreams were pleasant, filled with scenes of beaches and sea gulls flying overhead. Slowly, darkness intruded in his dreams, swirling with shadows and figures lurking in every corner. Suddenly, a feeling of imminent danger exploded in his mind. He opened his eyes and saw the knife floating disembodied over him. Acting on pure reflex, he put his hand out, grunting as the cool metal slashed downward through his flesh. His sluggish mind barely registered the figure in black as it towered over the side of his bed. Instinctively, he sat up and whipped the pillow around, protecting his face, as the knife slashed downward again. For a few precious moments, the blade was embedded in the soft foam. Hutch scooted backward, pulling the blade and the figure behind it with him. As the phantom leaned awkwardly across the bed, Hutch brought his knees up to his chest then lashed out with his feet as hard as he could. Larry Ashby howled in pain as he flew off the mattress and slammed into the window, falling to his knees.   
Scrambling off the opposite side of the bed, Hutch yanked the pillow case off the pillow and wrapped it around his hand in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood. Holding his injured hand close to his stomach, he ran for the front door, slapping on the lights. Without thinking, he reached for the door knob with his injured hand. The bloody pillow case slipped off the smooth surface of the knob, and a white hot pain lanced behind his eyes as his hand thumped against the wooden door. He turned as he heard footsteps rushing toward him and ducked away as Larry slashed at him once again.   
Although Hutch was several inches taller and thirty pounds heavier, the blood he'd lost was already making him weak. The two men grappled for the knife, but the blond was no match for the berserk killer. He shook Larry's wrist in an effort to make him let go, but the younger man held fast to the handle with two strong hands. With as much strength as he could muster, Hutch punched his assailant in the stomach then brought the edge of his good hand down sharply on his neck. Larry gagged reflexively and slumped to the floor once more, giving Hutch the chance to escape into the kitchen. Panting heavily from exertion, Hutch leaned back against the refrigerator, keeping the table between him and Larry. His holster seemed to mock at him from its place on the wall. To reach his gun, he would have to go past Larry. He doubted that he had the strength for another battle. Hutch spoke in a calm voice, stalling for time as he frantically searched for a way out of the explosive situation.   
"Come on, Larry; let's talk."  
The enraged man pulled himself up and leaned against the kitchen divider, the knife hanging limply at his side. His eyes glittered with insanity.  
"You laughed at me!" He whimpered plaintively. "It's not nice to make fun of people."  
"I wasn't making fun of you, Larry. Look at me. I'm not laughing. I want to help you."  
"No you don't! You just want to lock me up, like those crummy doctors did. I hated that place! They just kept shoving those pills down my throat and locked me in my room. I know what they were doing. They didn't think I noticed, but I could see them pointing at me and laughing behind my back. I'm not going back there and you can't make me!"  
"No one's going to make you go any where, Larry. The medicine helped you. It made you feel better, didn't it? We'll find you another doctor, one that you'll like. He'll give you some new medicine and it will make you well again."  
"Nothing will make me well again. You're just saying those things because you're scared of me. I hurt you once and you know I'll do it again. You all think you're so special! Well, I'm the one that's special now. You can't hurt me anymore. I won't let anyone hurt me anymore!"  
Hutch slumped against the cold metal door of the fridge, focusing all of his attention on Larry. The pillow case around his injured hand was turning bright red, and he could see the red drops splattering on the floor beside his feet. If he didn't resolve this soon, he would be too weak to defend himself. Or worse, he would pass out, leaving Larry the chance to close in for the kill.  
Nobody knows what's happening. They all think I'm safe in my bed, sawing logs. OK, Starsky, this would be a good time to have one of your visions. GET ME OUT OF THIS!!  
Starsky turned the corner onto Ocean Avenue on two tires, just as the squad cars flew in from the opposite direction. Dobey's green Ford squealed to a stop behind the other cars, and he jumped out of the car as Starsky ran up to him. The Captain held his hand up, signaling the officers to wait then looked up at the second floor apartment. He turned to the psychic.  
"Starsky, are you sure about this? Everything looks peaceful up there."  
"Of course I'm sure! You're not gonna see Hutch hanging out of the window, yelling for help, Captain. Ashby's in there, and he's gonna slash Hutch to ribbons if we don't do something right now! OHHHHH!!" Starsky bent over and clutched his head.  
Dobey grabbed the brunet by his shoulders, supporting him. "Starsky! David, what's wrong?"  
Starsky straightened up slowly. "He's hurt. I can't tell how badly, but I know he's bleeding. He just sent me one Hell of a psychic SOS. He's trying to talk some sense into Larry, but it's not working."  
The brunet gazed steadily at the captain. "I have to get up there. I think I know how to get through to him, but if we wait much longer, you're gonna have a dead cop on your hands."  
"Starsky, I can't let you do that! You're a civilian, and you aren't trained in hostage negotiations. The best thing for you to do is stay out of it and let the professionals handle Ashby."  
Indigo eyes flashed at the black man. "Look, Captain; I'm sick of trying to prove myself to you! Your professionals don't know what I know about Larry. If they start butting in, it's only going to make things worse." He pointed his index finger skyward. "I'm going up there and you can't stop me."  
"I can put you in handcuffs and throw your ass in a squad car!"  
"Yeah, well, that threat's getting old, too. If you're gonna do it, you'd better do it now. I'm not gonna sit here and let Larry kill Hutch. So, do I go, or do I stay? Do you really want Hutch to die, just because you can't accept what you can't see?"  
Dark brown eyes bored into blue. "He could kill you, too. Once you're in that apartment, I can't protect you anymore. Do you understand that?"  
Starsky nodded. "I know. But there'll be two of us. Don't count Hutch out just yet. If he can keep Larry talking, I'll have a better chance of sneaking up on him."  
Dobey waffled for a moment then took his gun out of its holster and offered it to the psychic.  
"Do you know how to handle one of these?"  
Starsky took the gun and stuck it in the waistband of his sweat pants, in the small of his back. The gun hung loosely, but he hoped it would stay hidden from the deranged attacker.   
"I was in the Army, Captain. I know how to handle a gun. But I hope I don't have to use it. Larry's sick. He's not responsible for his actions. I sure don't wanna kill him."  
Briefly, Dobey smiled. "I'm glad to hear you say that. But don't put yourself and Hutch in jeopardy. If you have to use it, anything you do will be in self-defense."  
Starsky nodded sharply. "Well, this is it. Wish me luck, Captain. And if you hear a whole bunch of screamin' and yellin', send the cavalry, OK?"  
He started to walk off then turned back. "I just thought of something. What if the door is locked?"  
"Hutch keeps a spare key above the door. Hopefully, Ashby didn't find it and take it down."  
Starsky shook his head. "Larry didn't go through the front door. He used a rope to climb onto the balcony. He's strong, and he knew no one would be watching."  
The psychic put a thumb up and walked toward the front entrance to Venice Place. He climbed the stairs quietly and stopped to listen at the door. The rise and fall of voices could be heard through the solid wood, but he couldn't make out what they were saying. Mouthing a silent prayer, he reached above the door and felt long the frame. His eyes brightened when he felt the small key. Gingerly, he inserted the key into the lock and turned it slowly. He breathed a sigh of relief when the knob turned and the door swung inward.   
Hutch shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs from his mind. His injured hand was numb. He couldn't tell if the bleeding had stopped, but the world around him was slowly turning grey. The only thing holding him up was the refrigerator door. If something didn't happen soon, he was going to pass out. If he lost consciousness, Hutch knew he would never wake up. Larry would be on him like white on rice.  
"Larry, no one wants to hurt you. You're hurting inside and you're confused. Let me help you. If you kill me, there's no turning back. The police won't stop until they catch you.'  
Larry cackled. "They're not going to catch me. They've tried before, but I always get away. I can hide then I'll go far away from here. But first, I'm going to make them pay. I'll make you all pay! You won't laugh at me anymore."  
Hutch wracked his brain for a way to get through to the insane attacker. This wasn't getting them anywhere. They were going around in circles. He knew he didn't have much time. Larry was strong and relatively fresh. All the younger man had to do was bide his time until Hutch passed out from loss of blood. Then he could do what he wanted.   
When the door to his apartment slowly opened, he thought he was hallucinating. An enormous feeling of relief washed over him as Starsky eased into the room. Centering his attention on Larry, the detective tried to reason with the man.  
"That was before we knew who you were. Now every cop in this town has a picture of you in his squad car. There's an APB out on you with a description of your car and your bike. It's only a matter of time, Larry. Don't let this go any further. It has to stop, now. We can't let you kill anybody else."  
Larry raised the knife. "They had to be punished! I told you that! They laughed at me. I just wanted to be their friend. Why did they have to laugh at me? Why did they want to hurt me?"  
Starsky took a step farther into the room. "They didn't mean to hurt you, Larry. They just didn't understand."  
Larry started in surprise, half-turning toward the brunet. "David! What are you doing here? How did you get here?"  
Starsky shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I want to help you, Larry." He took another step. "There are policemen down stairs. It's time to end this. They're not going to let you get away this time. It's over, Larry."  
"No, it's not over! It's not over until I say it's over! Why aren't you listening to me? They have to be punished!" Tears streamed down his face. "Don't you understand? They hurt me."  
Starsky took another step. "You mean, like your dad hurt you? Is that how he died, Larry? Was he trying to hurt you?"  
Larry stared at the other man. "How did you know that?"  
"I just do. What happened, Larry? Tell me."  
Larry swiped under his nose with his free hand. "He was making fun of me. He called me a baby, a momma's boy, and said that I was nothing but a wimp. He laughed at me and kept calling me names. I couldn't take it any more, so I hit him. I slapped his face, but he did that to me all of the time! Why was it okay for him to hit me, but not for me to hit him back? Anyway, he got really mad then and started screaming at me, cursing and telling me that I was worthless. It was time for me to grow up and act like a man. No son of his was going to act like a sissy, and he was going to put some steel in my spine, even if he had to beat the Hell out of me to do it."  
Starsky prodded him gently. "What happened then?"  
"He took off his belt and started coming after me. I could hear my mom begging him to stop, but he kept walking toward me. He was going to hurt me. I could see it in his eyes. So I started running. He chased me all over the house. I tried to get out the front door, but he stepped in front of it and just laughed some more. I ran back to the kitchen. Mom had the back door open, so I ran as hard as I could toward it. I was almost out the door when I heard my mom scream. I stopped and looked to see what was wrong. He was lying on the floor and his head was bleeding. She ran to him but I kept going. I hid in the back yard until I saw the ambulance come. When they took him away, I went to my room and hid in the closet. I didn't come out until she got back that night. When she told me he was dead, I was glad. He hated me and I hated him! He didn't have the right to hurt me! I was his son. He was supposed to love me! But nobody loved me, except my mom."   
Hutch leaned back against the cool metal and watched the scene in front of him. It was taking all of his concentration to focus on the two men. Their voices seemed to come from inside a long tunnel; their bodies enveloped in a fog. He didn't speak, afraid of breaking the tenuous rapport Starsky had developed with Larry.  
Starsky's voice was soothing. "It wasn't your fault, Larry. Your father shouldn't have treated you that way. He abused you. You were only protecting yourself."  
Larry nodded vehemently. "He was always laughing at me! When I was sick, he told my mom that she was just coddling me. It was just the chicken pox, he said. All kids got them. I was making a big deal out of the scars. Nobody noticed them. I was just being too sensitive about it."  
"But it was a big deal, wasn't it? The other kids made fun of you, and that hurt your feelings."  
"Mom said it wasn't nice to make fun of people. She said they were bad, and someday they would be punished. She said they were too young to know better, but when I grew up, people still laughed at me. They were grownups! They should have known better."  
He looked at the knife in his hands. "Mom said they should be punished. So I punished them. Now they aren't laughing anymore."  
Starsky took another step. He motioned toward the injured detective. "Hutch wasn't laughing at you, Larry. He's only doing his job. He wants to help you and so do I. Put the knife down, Larry. Let us help you."  
Larry looked over at Hutch and whimpered. "But he'll lock me away. I don't want to go back there."  
"We won't send you back there. I promise. We'll take you to someone that will understand what you went through. They'll make you feel better. You won't hurt anymore."  
For an instant, it seemed as if Larry would surrender. The knife slipped in his hand as he relaxed his stance. The light in his eyes dimmed slightly then blazed again.   
"You're lying! You don't really care. You'll say anything to save him. It's not going to work!"  
Hutch tried valiantly to straighten up as the berserk man rushed toward him, the knife raised above his head. Helpless, he slumped against the door and tried to raise his good hand in an attempt to protect himself. A single shot rang out, and Larry dropped the knife, clutching his shoulder as he fell to the floor. Instantly, Starsky was on top of him, pinning him with his knees.   
Hutch managed to stagger to his jacket and took his handcuffs from the pocket with his good hand. He tossed them to Starsky as his knees gave out and he sunk to the floor. The brunet clamped the cuffs around Larry's wrists and rushed over to the fallen detective. Starsky helped him to the couch then patted him on the shoulder and handed him his gun.   
"Here, cover him while I call for the troops. I'll be right back."  
Without waiting for an answer, he rushed over to the window, opened it and shouted down at Dobey and the others.  
"It's OK, Captain. You can come up now. And call an ambulance, will you? We have an injured cop up here!"  
A few minutes later, Larry was safely in custody and Hutch was lying on a gurney, his hand bandaged and an IV in his arm. Starsky tossed the keys to the Torino to one of the uniformed officers.  
"Follow us to the hospital, will you? I'm going in the ambulance with Hutch."  
One of the attendants started to protest, but clamped his mouth shut when he saw the look of determination in Starsky's eyes. Wisely, he kept silent and allowed the brunet to climb into the back of the ambulance with the injured man.  
Three days later, Starsky sat in on the couch in Hutch's apartment, watching him change into more comfortable clothes. Hutch's hand was still wrapped in a clean white bandage, but he had managed to dress himself without assistance.   
"Are you sure this was a good idea? You lost a lot of blood the other night. Maybe you should have stayed in the hospital for another day or two."  
"Oh, no, I am not staying in that sad excuse for a concentration camp for another day. The doctor said that my hand was healing and there wasn't any permanent damage done. I can't go back to work for another couple of weeks, and I have to have therapy on my hand, but I can do that as an outpatient. All I want to do now is sleep in my own bed. And now that Larry is in San Leoni, maybe I can get through the night without any more interruptions."  
Starsky laughed in astonishment. "You call that an interruption? That nut tried to kill you, Hutch! He would have carved you up like a Thanksgiving turkey if I hadn't got there when I did."  
"I know that, Starsky, but it all turned out okay. By the way, I never thanked you for saving my life. That was some shooting you did. I didn't know you could handle a gun like that."  
Starsky grinned wickedly. "There's a lot that you don't know about me. Anyway, I was so nervous that I'm just glad I didn't miss him and hit you instead."  
Hutch's eyes grew big as baseballs. "I hope you're kidding about that."  
"I am. Hey, have some faith. I knew what I was doing, sort of."  
Hutch didn't comment on that. He took a beer and a bottle of water from the refrigerator and handed the beer to Starsky, keeping the water for himself.  
He sat down beside the brunet and sighed in contentment. "Well, it's over, anyway. Now you can go back to work without worrying about Larry. With all the charges against him, he'll be in that institution for the rest of his life."   
Starsky looked at the bottle in his hands. "I'm not going back to O'Neil's, Hutch. I turned my resignation in before I picked you up."  
Hutch turned to look him in the eye. "Why? I thought you loved that job!"  
"I do! That's not why I left. Dobey did a pretty good job of keeping my name out of the paper, but it still said that an employee of O'Neil's helped bring Larry down. If people start thinking about it, they'll remember that I was conspicuously absent every time he killed somebody. Besides, I was with you when you talked to Michelle. She was the one that gave us Larry's name. It won't take them long to put two and two together. Sooner or later, they'll start asking questions, and I don't know how I'll answer them. I've fought too hard to keep this damned curse a secret. I know I'm just being vain, but I don't want them to start looking at me like I was a freak of nature or something. It's best that I just melt into the woodwork before that happens."  
Hutch laid a hand on Starsky's shoulder. "I'm sorry, buddy. I didn't mean for this to happen. I guess that I was so intent on bringing Larry in that I didn't think about what this mess would do to you. I tend to develop tunnel vision when I'm on a case. So, what are you going to do now?"  
Starsky shrugged. "I don't know. I have a small nest egg stashed away, so that will give me some time to think. I know I don't want to leave Bay City. This is my home, and I like it here. I'll find another job, somewhere."  
Hutch snapped his fingers. "Why don't you join the force? You're smart, you have military experience, and I know you can keep your head in a dangerous situation."  
"Are you serious? I never thought about being a cop."  
"Of course I'm serious! We're always looking for good men. It's a hard job and the pay isn't that great, but with your psychic ability, you'd have one Hell of an advantage over the scum in this town."  
He held Starsky's eyes with his. "You're always saying what you have is a curse, but it doesn't have to be. This would be your chance to put it to good use."  
His blue eyes twinkled. "Besides, I could use a good partner. You should see some of the green horns Dobey tries to saddle me with. I mean, it wouldn't happen overnight, but I don't think Dobey would refuse after you passed the detective's exam."  
Starsky took a long drink of beer. "You really think it would work?"  
Hutch slapped him on the shoulder. "Would I lie to you?" He grinned wickedly. "Of course, you'd have to get rid of that car and buy something a little more inconspicuous."  
"Oh, no, I am NOT getting rid of my car! My Torino can run circles around that heap you drive. I'm surprised the creeps you chase in that tin can don't laugh themselves sick when they see you in their rearview mirror. What do they do, surrender out of pity?"  
"Oh, that's real cute, Starsky. At least they don't feel like they're being chased by a red tomato on four wheels."  
"Hey, it's not a red tomato! For your information, it's candy apple red. And I'll put my tomato against your squash any day."  
"Now you're getting personal, Gordo. My car is not a squash! Any fool can see that it has character."  
"Now that I think about it, it does remind me of someone, like Methuselah."  
The two men grinned good-naturedly then Hutch held his bottle up.   
"Here's to tomato's and squash, and to future partners. I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship." They touched their bottles in a toast.   
The sunlight streaming in the window gave silent witness to the new bond that was formed that day.


End file.
